


Masks

by omphalos, Wolfling



Series: Of Old Mystics [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Drugs, Epic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:36:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphalos/pseuds/omphalos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles rescues Ethan from the Initiative cell, and a healing process begins on many levels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of Old Mystics was originally published regularly between May 2003 - March 2005. The story begins some months after the end of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, season 7. Masks is the first volume of the epic saga.

_ **Now...**_

Ethan groaned and attempted to roll over on the cot bed, but the permaplastic chains caught tight. They used them to keep him stationary while the drains were in.

It grew harder every day to distinguish the real from the delirium, but he thought he heard a door open and footsteps approaching. Perhaps he was to be allowed one of those infrequent rests from the torture that they sometimes granted him.

"Dear lord."

Eyes closed, Ethan smiled humorlessly. So today it was to be voices that his mind conjured up. Or more accurately, _voice, singular_ – the one that had haunted his dreams long before he'd ended up in this hell. He wondered if the phantom was going to comfort or torment him this time.

The voice continued, full of the power and authority of Ripper at his most glorious. "Get him out of that obscene device _now_."

Ah. It was to be the valiant rescue fantasy then. As his hallucinations went, this was quite possibly the worst. Try as he might, he could never stop the surge of hope that this was real, that he really was being freed from the torture, and Rupert Giles genuinely cared enough to come for him.

He groaned, and in a voice so rough it sounded alien to his own ears, he said, "Go away, Ripper. 'M not up to this today."

There was a pause. Then Rupert's voice, sounding as if he was swallowing either tears or laughter, came again. "For once in your life, Ethan, stop being so bloody contrary."

Then came a loud snap accompanied by short bursts of pain as the drains piercing his skin were removed. Nausea washed through him as it always did when they came out. That much, at least, felt real. After the chains were also taken away, he turned painfully to his side and curled up. "Not contrary," he muttered. "Just don't take orders from mirages."

There was the creak of springs and the shifting of the mattress as someone sat down beside him. A hand, gentle in a way he hadn't felt in far too long, stroked his face, fingers brushing against his shaven skull.

"I'm not a mirage," Rupert said softly. "I'm here to get you out."

Ethan couldn't quite stop the sob that broke from him. Still, what did it matter if the soldiers saw him cry? The tears would hardly be his first in this place. "You always say that," he pointed out bitterly, keeping his eyes tight shut.

"This time it's real." There was an earnest fierceness to Rupert's voice that Ethan had rarely heard directed at him. Or at least, not for a very long time. "We're getting out of here now." Hands gently but insistently rolled him over onto his back. Then, before he could protest, Ethan felt himself being lifted, finding himself held like a child against a warm, familiar body.

Either his hallucinations were becoming more real, or... could this possibly be happening? He felt himself being carried out of the cell, his supporter turning sideways to get through the door, and then along the corridor he'd been dragged or wheeled through many times on the way to sessions in the labs. He supposed he could open his eyes and look, but the light beyond his eyelids seemed very bright.

Nuzzling instead into the body holding him, Ethan croaked, "Took your time, Ripper. Thought you didn't love me anymore."

The arms holding him tightened at that. "I never thought they'd be able to hold you for this long. I'm sorry. I should've checked sooner."

"You're better than the last one."

"I'm not a hallucination, Ethan," Rupert told him patiently.

"Of course not," Ethan tried to smile sardonically, but he was out of practice. "It, of course, makes perfect sense that you would rescue me. I see that."

"Apparently it makes enough sense that you've been imagining it," Rupert pointed out.

Ethan made a noise somewhere between a giggle and gurgle. It sounded disturbing, so he quickly stopped it. "I don't think 'sense' had a whole lot to do with that, Rupert, old chum."

The arms holding him tightened again briefly in reaction to that. "Perhaps not. I quite probably should have my head examined, but you always seem to bring out the more... foolhardy aspects of my personality."

Hmm, a hallucination that misunderstood his meaning. That was... unusual. Ethan felt himself being carried through another door and then they stopped. A dull hum of machinery could be heard, and the room seemed to jerk slightly. Lift then. Going up.

He thought he'd try something he'd tried before, to see what this version would say. "How does it make you feel, Ripper, seeing me like this? Knowing you were the one who put me here."

Rupert sighed, and Ethan was close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. "It's not like you were a total innocent, Ethan. You changed me into a demon and then urged Buffy to kill me. I wasn't exactly in the most giving of moods after that." Another sigh. "But I had no idea that _this_ was what would happen to you. If I had... I would have probably just beaten you to a pulp and run you out of town on the proverbial rail and called it a day."

"The usual then," Ethan said with a hoarse chuckle. It wasn't as if the Fyarl spell had been anything much more than a plea for attention. Not that he had any intention of telling the hallucination that. Just in case.

The lift doors opened, and Rupert, or whoever this really was carrying Ethan, began to move again, shifting Ethan in his grip first. "I really did think you'd get yourself free before the first week was up," Rupert said softly after a moment. "I never wanted this."

"Too weak," Ethan admitted. "They took... everything." He heard a quiet whoosh like that of an opening air seal. Then the sounds around them took on a different quality. "Is that fresh air? Oh, this really is very impressive."

Rupert chuckled, the sound vibrating through Ethan's form. "Trust you to pat yourself on the back for the quality of your own hallucinations. And yes, that is fresh air."

Ethan heard the distinctive sound of a car door opening. Then Rupert was bending and placing him on, he assumed, a car seat, letting go of Ethan long enough to climb in beside him. Ethan slumped against Rupert, marvelling that even the pain levels seemed right in this one, more was the pity. "Do you think that if I never open my eyes again, this dream might never stop?" he asked wistfully.

Rupert's arm moved around Ethan's shoulders, pulling him closer. "Open your eyes, Ethan," he said softly, thumb moving in gentle circle on Ethan's cheek. "This is real. It's not going to stop."

"Can't be real," Ethan denied mildly. "You haven't touched me like this in decades."

"You haven't let me," Rupert countered. "Been too busy pushing my buttons for all you were worth."

"Chance would've been a fine thing," Ethan said with a smirk. Still not opening his eyes, he snorted and instantly regretted the action as he began to cough.

Giles immediately shifted their positions, moving to support Ethan through the spasms. "Easy," he said, voice low and reassuring, one hand stroking Ethan's chest in an effort to ease the coughing. "Just concentrate on breathing."

His lungs hurt; they had done for endless days now. They felt full of something heavy and liquid, and he was so very weak. He was beginning to lose patience with this extended hallucination; it was too good, and it would only hurt all the more when it was over. So Ethan opened his eyes.

They were, it seemed, in the back of something only a little smaller than a limousine, luxurious and roomy. He turned to look at the person holding him and saw Rupert smiling back at him, although his eyes were murky with what looked like worry and concern. Rupert looked older: more grey in his hair, deeper lines on his face, signs that he hadn't been getting enough sleep. But despite all that, his spirit still shone through. It was the most detailed waking hallucination Ethan had ever had.

If it were an hallucination.

Tentatively, he reached out and touched Rupert's face with trembling fingers, brushing over the other man's cheek and lips. He swallowed. "If you're not real, I'll have to kill you, you know," he said in as conversational a tone as he could muster.

Rupert held still for Ethan's explorations. "I can assure you I'm real; just as long as you give me the chance to prove it before you start planning a murder."

"If I can kill you while I'm in this state, that'll prove you aren't real."

"Fifteen minutes, and you're already threatening to kill me. And you wonder what happened to our relationship." The words were teasing, but the smile had a bit more emotion in it than simple teasing could account for.

Ethan blinked, trying to encourage his eyes to focus better as he gazed at Rupert. "I don't wonder; I _know_. You turned your back and walked away. And much though I've always appreciated the view of your arse, Ripper, I–" He could feel the desire to cough building up again so he stopped talking and swallowed.

He saw what he couldn't help but imagine was old regret flash through Rupert's eyes. "We would've torn each other apart if I'd stayed." There was a tightening of his mouth, a stillborn grimace. "Not that we haven't done a good job of that over the years anyway."

"Should've stayed then," Ethan grated out, his throat feeling increasingly raw as he fought the coughing impulse. "Had some fun along the way."

"There were things I had to do." Rupert sounded weary. "You never understood."

Which was true enough. Ethan looked down and didn't try to speak anymore. He hurt, and everything seemed too bright and too loud. Had he any pride left, not to mention the necessary strength, he would have tried to push away from his gallant rescuer and sit without support. Instead, he simply closed his eyes again.

Rupert sighed, his hand still moving lightly over Ethan's chest, soothing. "I had thought, last time... But then I woke up with horns."

"It was too late by then," Ethan admitted. "If you'd been kind enough to inform me ahead of time that we were going to end the evening in bed together, then I'd never have–" He broke off, coughing helplessly again.

Rupert tightened his grip on him, volubly cursing the American military in general, and the scientists in particular, who had done this to Ethan.

Ethan smiled slightly to himself, despite the coughing, enjoying the touch of Ripper in the other man's voice. When the spasms died down again, he asked very quietly, "Not that I care over much, providing it's 'away', but where are you taking me?"

"Home. London."

Still talking barely above a whisper, Ethan asked, "Home's not Sunnydale anymore? Oh dear, don't tell me something unfortunate has happened to the poor little girl."

"Would you care if it had?" He could hear a sharpness and defensiveness in Rupert's voice that spoke of some past trauma. Given the circumstances, it was probably better not to answer that, so Ethan didn't. After a moment's silence, Rupert spoke again. "A lot has happened. Things have changed."

Ethan nodded. "I've been rather shamefully out of touch. Can't think why."

Rupert tightened his grip briefly in response to that, then offered, "The Council was destroyed."

Interesting. "I truly don't wish to upset you, Rupert, not when you're being decent enough to rescue me, but you can hardly expect me to be traumatised by the loss."

"No, I don't suppose you would be," Rupert said sardonically. "But how about the news that I'm in charge of the new Council?"

"Now that is traumatising, yes."

"I'm sure you'll find it even more traumatising that you have that fact to thank for my being able to get you out of that place."

As his short supply of energy dwindled, Ethan found he was becoming cynical again about the reality of all of this. "I think I'm losing my touch. It's taken far too long to think up this latest excuse explaining how my dashing hero was able to march into the lion's den and retrieve me from its jaws."

"This isn't a hallucination," Rupert told him again, patiently. The car stopped, and he sighed in what sounded like satisfaction. "We're here."

Ethan kept his eyes shut. "Here being the middle of the Nevada desert?" They hadn't travelled far enough for it to be anywhere else. "Are we going to have a picnic?"

"Here being the airfield." Ethan felt Rupert move and then the car door opened, letting in a breeze and the kind of loud background noise that did seem to confirm their location. "I rather thought we'd have a plane ride, instead of a picnic."

"Might there be some drugs aboard?" Ethan asked weakly. "The pain you see. It's painful. Painful pain. It's the worst kind." He smiled raggedly up at Rupert, opening his eyes just a slit.

Rupert smiled back at him, although his eyes remained worried. "There's full medical facilities aboard. You're going to be fine." He slid out of the vehicle and then reached back in to pick Ethan up again.

Closing his eyes fully once more as he had no wish to see the outside world just yet, Ethan leant against Rupert's shoulder as the comforting motion of being carried by a walking man began again. "Have I lost obscene amounts of weight, or have you been working out?" He could hardly hear his own voice. Had he really said anything?

"Both," Rupert replied. "I've been doing a great deal of Slayer training lately."

Which had to mean Buffy Summers was dead. "Ah, poor Ripper. I _am_ sorry. Well, I'm not really, but it seemed like a nice thing to say."

"Thank you," Rupert replied as Ethan felt him start up some stairs. "But things aren't quite the way you'd expect."

"Care to enlighten the sick man? And while you're at it, do try not to sway so."

"Complain, complain, complain. I'm rescuing you, aren't I?"

"Ingratitude is unforgivable, of course. It's just–" Ethan could abruptly hear his own voice again as they entered what was presumably the plane, and the door was closed "–I'm feeling a trifle nauseous."

"We'll see what we can do about that." Rupert was putting him down on some kind of padded table or gurney as he spoke.

Ethan peered out through cracked open eyes. He couldn't stop himself from reaching out and feebly grasping at Rupert's sleeve. The human contact, after so long without it, was hard to let go. "Oh, I doubt your shoes are in any danger. I've been nil-by-mouth for some time, you know."

"We'll see what we can do about that as well," Rupert said, taking Ethan's hand in his own. "Although that will take longer. It will be a while until you're up to your typical diet."

Ethan dared to open his eyes a little more, but immediately regretted it as the interior of the small jet seemed to be spinning alarmingly; he shut them tight once more. In a tremulous voice, he said, "At this moment, I'd settle for a weak cup of British Rail tea."

And then people who were not Rupert were touching him. Strapping things to his arm and pressing something cold to his chest. He whimpered. This had been a perfectly lovely illusion and to wake up in the labs again now would just be too much to bear.

But his hand was still being held, and he could still hear Rupert's voice, reassuring him that everything was going to be all right. Something sharp was pressed into Ethan's arm, and he felt a coldness there. The darkness behind his eyelids somehow became darker still, and he heard his own voice, sounding as if he were on his own in a big, empty room. "Don't leave me here alone, Ripper. Not again."

As the dark undertow pulled him under, he clung to Rupert's response, whether it were real or imagined. "You're safe, Ethan. I promise."

***

"Mr Giles, I've brought you some tea," said the prim, well-spoken tones of Pamela Smythe-Tompkins, the young woman Giles had chosen, from a meagre selection of junior Watchers, to be his assistant for the trip.

"Thank you, Pamela," Giles said, glancing up and taking the cup of tea from her with a smile. He took a sip of the tea, his gaze drifting back to Ethan's unconscious form.

Pamela hovered, hesitating. "If I may ask, sir, what are the Council's plans for this individual when we get him home?"

Unfortunately, that was not a question that Giles could answer, not having thought beyond getting Ethan out of that hellish place. "Tell me, Pamela," he said instead. "Do you think _that_," he nodded towards Ethan, "is something deserved by anyone?"

The young woman, hardly much more than a girl really, stiffened as if she felt criticised. "Of course not, sir. It's just that rather a lot of Council resources, what are left of them, have been spent on this mission. I'd rather assumed that you had some purpose in mind for a corrupt magician."

"Not that many resources," Giles corrected her. "A favour here, a word there, not that difficult a task for the Council, even deplenished as it is. And Ethan isn't corrupt so much as... unpredictable."

"Really, sir?" Her tone was disbelieving. "His file listed a number of crimes and activities that seemed clearly to be the product of a polluted mind and soul."

Giles smiled to himself, wondering not for the first time what his young aide would think of his own past. "There's much more to Ethan than what's in that file," he told her, his gaze once again trailing back to the man in question. "Although admittedly the Council has never been high on his list of favourite organisations."

"If you say so, sir," she said, clearly too well brought up to argue further. She was quiet for a few moments and then asked, "What did they do to him? He looks, well, like those appalling photographs one sees from the Nazi concentration camps."

Indeed he did. Ethan had always been on the thin side, but now he was positively skeletal. A concentration camp victim, as Pamela had said, was the most apt description that Giles could come up with. When he had first seen Ethan in the cell, Giles had been afraid that the other man's mind would be as ravaged as his body, but the conversation they'd had on the way to the plane had quieted that fear. Fragile and weak maybe, but he was definitely still Ethan, despite the horrors perpetrated upon him.

And those horrors... "They were draining his magic."

"How... unpleasant." Despite the prim words, there seemed to be some genuine disquiet in Pamela's tone. "As if he were some kind of dairy cow? Did they have a use for it – the magic?"

"I'm sure they did, but I haven't been able to obtain that information just yet. If you want something with a corrupt soul, however, a good place to start looking would be the American military's covert operations."

"Indeed. This man may be... unpredictable, but he still presumably _has_ a soul. The Council would never treat a souled human like this. A clean and merciful killing perhaps, but not this kind of barbarism." As Pamela spoke, one of the medics came forward and checked the various monitors they'd attached to Ethan's body.

"How is he?" Giles asked him as he watched the man frown and adjust one of the drips attached to Ethan's arms.

In cool, professional tones, the medic replied, "Severely malnourished and anaemic with considerable muscular atrophy and chronic pneumonia. His heart seems sound, however, which could explain how he has lasted so long."

"That and he's just too bloody stubborn to give up," Giles muttered. Raising his voice, he asked, "He'll recover?"

The medic pursed his lips, considering the question. "Yes, he should, providing we can clear his lungs sufficiently. They'll always be scarred now, however. He'll need a great deal of recuperative care for a long period of time."

"He'll get it." At least for as long as Ethan would accept such. Giles feared that Ethan would pull his usual disappearing trick as soon as he was strong enough to do so.

Pamela stirred beside him. "Are you intending to take him home, sir? Would that be quite safe?"

"Quite safe?" He let his mouth curl upwards in a ghost of a smile. "Nothing about Ethan is 'quite safe'. But it will be fine."

"You talk as if you know him very well," Pamela straightened her skirt in a way that seemed to suggest she didn't really approve. "Is he an old... acquaintance?"

The ghost of a smile became the real thing. "Something like that."


	2. Chapter 2

_ **Then...** _

The club was trashy and full of an unlikely mix of glitter-boys, most of whom seemed rather too fond of the Woolworth's cosmetics counter, and the denim-clad rocker crowd with their girlfriends. A stray hippy or two could even be seen getting stoned in the dark corners, refusing to move with the times, or indeed, wash their hair. Everyone, however, seemed equally unimpressed with the band on the stage, whose idea of a set appeared to be poorly played cover versions, inaudibly sung.

Rupert Giles slouched against the bar, his eyes roving idly over the crowd, looking for something, or more accurately, some _one_ to catch and hold his interest.

As Rupert watched, a slim, wavy-haired boy, whose make-up seemed more artfully applied than that of the rest of his ilk, was insinuating himself within the massed rocker ranks, much to their disquiet. Rupert continued to watch, wondering if the boy was mentally defective or just oblivious. His very presence in the middle of that crowd was enough to stir up the tempers of those morons; it was going to take very little to set them off now.

The boy's head lifted, and his gaze momentarily met Rupert's, almost as if he had been seeking it out, but then he looked down again, apparently distracted by something one of the heavily drinking yobs had said to him. A broad grin lit the lad's face and then he sat down. Right on the lap of the biggest, most aggressive looking rocker in the group. Definitely mentally defective, Rupert thought, wincing as the drunken pillock yelled and dumped the boy on the floor, standing up and looming over him.

He really shouldn't, Rupert told himself. It wasn't any of his business. But even as he was thinking it, he had stood and was heading over to where the commotion was happening.

Things happened fast. Still grinning, the boy on the floor said something that caused him to be kicked hard in the solar plexus. The grin became grimace as his arms wrapped protectively around himself, and he heaved for breath that he couldn't seem to get. His attacker pulled his foot back to deliver another blow, and Rupert stepped in to block it.

"Why don't you find someone your own size to pick on, mate?" he asked as he did so. "Or better yet, your own species."

An incredulous sneer adorned the lout's face as he turned to face Rupert. "And who the fuck are you when you're at home then? His little bum-chum? Ah, ain't that sweet." The prat pulled back his arm, ready to throw a punch.

Rupert side-stepped the blow, reaching out and grabbing the bruiser's arm, yanking him forward while he was off-balance. Rupert sent him sprawling hard onto the tiles.

The rest of the rocker gang immediately stood, outraged apparently by the fall of their champion. On the floor, the glitter-stuck boy who had started all this raised himself on an elbow and grinned up at Rupert. "Oh, nicely done."

Rupert shot him a disbelieving look; the boy was acting like this was a show put on for his benefit. "Are you tripping or something?"

"I'm free of all illicit substances," the boy answered, rolling hurriedly out of the way as the other rockers moved in to jump Rupert.

Attention distracted by the renewed attack, Rupert fought off the other louts, sending them crashing into various nearby tables. In brief glimpses between blows, he noticed people sitting there responding to the interruption. Knowing an opportunity to make a retreat when he saw one, Rupert grabbed the boy's hand and started dragging him towards the nearest exit. "Come on!"

"Oh, are we going somewhere nice?" the boy asked as he was pulled through the crowd. "Will I like it?"

"We're going away from here," Rupert replied tersely, weaving their way through the growing fight.

The door was in sight, but trouble was closing on them in the form of the original lout, the one that had been sat on. Perhaps this was because he could travel much faster than Rupert, not having the same impediment. The boy Rupert had rescued seemed to have a knack for getting tangled up with chair legs and strangers as he was dragged through the club, and each time he did, he seemed to feel a need to apologise profusely and insincerely to all involved.

Rupert really should have left the boy to fend for himself and got out of there before he got in any deeper, but it would have been a shame to waste all the effort he'd already expended, and so he somehow got them both moving faster instead. When they finally made it through the door and out into the night, he breathed a sigh of relief.

The boy, who underneath the artfully applied make-up looked a couple of years younger than Rupert, leant back against the wall and smirked, looking up from under his brow in a seductive fashion. "Thank you," he said rather smugly. "That was truly dashing of you. I'm Ethan, by the way, and you are?" But before Rupert could answer, the club door opened again, and the big wanker who'd first kicked Ethan appeared. He growled and ran at Rupert with an open knife.

Rupert was beyond annoyed now. He dropped into a fighting stance, blocking the first thrust, then grabbed onto the pillock's wrist and _twisted_ until he heard and felt the snap. The bloke fell to his knees, clutching at his broken limb and swearing, cheeks dampening with tears of pain. As Rupert stepped back, maintaining a defensive posture, Ethan slowly applauded from where he leant.

"Oh, you really are quite impressive, you know." Not a single word that had emerged from the boy's mouth so far had sounded sincere.

Rupert was disgusted with the whole situation. It hadn't been a fight he'd been looking for tonight, but it looked as if that was all he was going to get. "Next time, you're on your own," he growled, turning to walk away.

"Aw, don't go. Don't you want to know why I went to all this trouble to attract your attention?"

Rupert stopped. "Do you mean to tell me," he said carefully, "that you started this on purpose?"

"That depends."

"Depends on what?"

The look Ethan now gave Rupert was pure invitation. "On what you're going to do if I say 'yes'."

"By all rights, I should thrash you," Rupert replied, moving closer. He didn't think he was going to though. Not after that blatant flirtation combined with the lack of other prospects.

Ethan looked at the wounded rocker, who was on his feet and backing off in a hurry. "So fierce, Rupert. So brutal." Turning back to face him, the boy added, "I _really_ like that in you."

Rupert was instantly on his guard. "How do you know my name?"

"Oh, didn't you just tell me?" Ethan asked with obviously false innocence.

"No," Rupert said shortly. "I didn't."

Ethan pushed away from the wall and prowled towards him. "I suppose someone else must have then."

"No one here knows it." He stepped closer to the boy, backing him up against the wall again.

Ethan grinned wickedly, clearly delighted by Rupert's action. "Perhaps I'm psychic."

"Perhaps I should thrash you after all."

"Would you enjoy it?"

Rupert gave him his most evil grin. "_You_ wouldn't."

"That would depend," the boy said, reaching out with a single finger and drawing a squiggle down Rupert's chest, "entirely on how you went about it."

Rupert stared at him. "This," he said slowly, "is your idea of a pass?"

Ethan laughed, tipping his head back and then, focusing intently on Rupert again, he repeated, "That depends."

"You _are_ mentally deficient," Rupert said with disgust, pushing away from Ethan.

Ethan pouted momentarily. "And after I passed my 11-plus as well. That was a waste of time then." Brightening again, he asked, "Do you want a coffee? There's a Turkish kebab house around the corner that serves it so thick and black you could stand your silver christening spoon up in it."

"Why didn't you just try that in the first place?" Rupert asked curiously. "Instead of all that aggro in there?"

"I think that 'aggro' served as a much more honest introduction to each other, don't you? Think how much more we know about each other now. My name's Ethan, in case you didn't catch it before."

"I did. And you still haven't told me how you know my name."

"Buy me a coffee and a kebab, and maybe I'll tell you."

Rupert looked at the boy, considering. He wasn't bad-looking under the makeup and attitude, and it wasn't like Rupert had anything better to do, unless he wanted to go pound heads some more. "All right," he finally said. "But no floorshow this time."

Ethan grinned. "Scout's honour. This way." He started to saunter up the road. Rupert fell in step by his side, having an inkling that this was a very bad idea. He glanced at Ethan again. Could be fun though.

***

Ethan stretched languorously, displaying his long body to what he hoped were appreciative eyes, and paused with his hands behind his head to look around the kebab house.

Dimitri and his brother were working the counter tonight, playing tinny music from the tranny on the shelf as they chattered ceaselessly in their own language. On the other side of the counter, a straggling line of takeaway customers waited dismally for their slice of dead goat in pita, and a young homeless girl wrapped her chilled hands around a mug of hot chocolate at the table near the door. Sadly, no one was paying any attention to Ethan...

Apart from, that is, the Watcher-in-training opposite him, who was just finishing his chicken shish with extra chillies. Not that Ethan had a clue what a Watcher was; his informant hadn't been _that_ informing. But the good-looking boy certainly seemed to know how to watch all right. Ethan dropped his arms and grinned at him.

"Go on then. Ask."

Rupert didn't smile back. He was eyeing Ethan like he was a particularly fascinating insect. When he spoke it wasn't a question. "You've been following me."

"I've been showing an interest, yes."

"Why?"

"I imagine because I find you interesting."

That got him a slight rolling of the eyes. "Why?" Rupert repeated.

Ethan chuckled. "Maybe I fancy you."

Rupert didn't answer right away. He seemed to be trying to see beyond the face Ethan was presenting him. The direct stare was beginning to make Ethan a little uncomfortable. "Maybe," Rupert said slowly, "I fancy you too."

Well, that was pleasing, at least. Ethan looked away from the piercing gaze, pretending to be distracted by one of the other customers, but he said, "I like the way you're looking at me."

Rupert grinned wolfishly. "No, you don't."

Ethan chuckled softly, acknowledging the accuracy of the remark. "Well, I _could_ like it. In the right circumstances." He flashed another of his winning grins across the table. This was a risky game he was playing, but he felt the rewards could be worth it. "What do you see?"

"Masks," Rupert replied after a moment.

"Attractive masks?"

"Yes." Amusement quirked Rupert's mouth upwards. "Vain?"

"Perhaps," Ethan allowed. He was feeling somewhat reassured by both of the answers just given him. Leaning forward, elbows on the table, he asked in his best purr, "Do you want to see what lies under the masks?"

"Maybe." Rupert reached out and trailed a finger along Ethan's arm. "You going to make it worth my while?"

A thrill shivered through Ethan as the finger touched him. He could feel his arm hairs rising, goose-bumps forming at the point of contact. "I'll do my best."

"You have somewhere we can go?"

Ethan's mouth quirked. "It's not much, but it's private." Knowing what he knew of Rupert's background, he was feeling a little ashamed of his own living conditions. Not enough that he'd do it in some grimy back-street, however. He had standards, of a sort.

"Private's good," Rupert said, standing up and taking hold of Ethan's hand. "Show me."

Surprised but delighted by the hand-holding in public, Ethan grinned around at his disappointingly inattentive audience as he stood. "It's just a few streets away," he said to Rupert.

Outside, it had grown chillier, and he shivered. "Cold?" Rupert asked, glancing sideways at him.

"I'm not wearing much," Ethan pointed out, although he hoped the other boy had already noticed that. "And this fabric's rather thin." He tugged a little at the hand in his, guiding Rupert in the direction they needed to walk in.

"Not very practical." Rupert moved closer so their arms brushed against each other as they walked.

"It wasn't meant to be." Ethan was feeling very pleased with himself. The little ball had rolled around and round the roulette wheel, but it was about to fall into his lucky number.

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised by now; your little performance back at the club wasn't very practical either."

"Oh, I don't know about that. It worked, didn't it? And I can assure you, I put as much effort into _all_ my performances."

"You better." Rupert looked around then stopped and pulled Ethan to him, kissing him possessively.

Oh yes. This was better even than Ethan had anticipated. Rupert was the one; he had to be. Ethan sank himself into the fierce kiss, melting his body against Rupert's and wrapping his arms around tight.

Rupert eventually pulled back. "Nice," he said, running his thumb over Ethan's lower lip. Ethan stuck his tongue out a little way and licked at the tip. Smiling, Rupert pulled it away. "How much further?"

Ethan waved his arm vaguely ahead of them. "Next right, then a left. Not far."

"Good." Rupert started down the pavement again, dragging Ethan with him.

Ethan's legs were no shorter than Rupert's, so it made little sense that he seemed to be having to walk twice as fast to keep up with him. Not that he had much choice about the keeping up part of it, it seemed, as the grip around his hand was strong. At least the brisk pace was keeping him warm.

When they reached the rundown hippy squat where he lived, Ethan pointed at it, unable to hide the distaste on his face. "It's in there. Mine's the penthouse."

If Rupert was similarly disgusted, he didn't show it. He merely said, "Room with a view, eh?" and followed Ethan up the narrow rickety stairs.

Ethan totally ignored the junkie on the first floor stairs and stepped around the pool of something he declined to identify on the second. His was the whole of the third floor, shut off from the rest of the building by a door he'd stolen from one of his rooms and persuaded the big bloke from the basement to fit for him. In return for a favour or three, the nature of which, Ethan didn't dwell on.

He got out his key and began to undo the padlock.

Rupert pressed up against him from behind, one arm sliding around Ethan's waist. "Keys in locks, such a symbolic act," he murmured then trailed off; Ethan could hear the frown in his voice.

"Something wrong?" Ethan asked, wiggling slightly and backing into the embrace.

"Depends." Rupert raised a hand and traced the invisible wards Ethan had put up earlier. "You do this?"

"Yeah," Ethan said slowly. "You can sense it? I knew you were the... were special." The padlock opened, as did the door. Ethan took Rupert's hand and encouraged him over the threshold.

Rupert shrugged, dismissing Ethan's words. "Runs in the family," he said shortly. There was a mystery there that piqued Ethan's interest, but before he could even think to follow up on it, Rupert had pulled him close and was devouring his mouth.

The kiss was even fiercer than the first one, stealing Ethan's breath and thoughts. When it broke, he found himself draped against Rupert, panting softly. "Er, drink? Seat? Joint?" he suggested as he recovered. "Bed?"

Kissing him again, Rupert grinned. "Bed."

Ethan led the older boy down the bare floorboards of his short hallway and into the bedroom. It was a small space filled with accumulated junk and no real furniture. The 'bed' was two sagging single mattresses piled together. It all smelled heavily of incense as that was preferable to how it would smell otherwise. He quickly lit another joss-stick.

Turning to Rupert, he shrugged disparagingly, "Sorry about this. Beggars can't be choosy, as they say."

Rupert was looking at him in that penetrating appraising way again. "Somehow I doubt that you're ever a beggar," he said, reaching out and running a finger lightly down the side of Ethan's face.

A slow smile grew broad on Ethan's face. "Don't you think you could make me beg then?"

The wicked smile he got in return sent shivers down his spine. "What makes you think you're going to have the breath for it?"

***

_ **Now...** _

Ethan couldn't breathe; he couldn't get air into his lungs. He woke from a deep sleep, sitting bolt upright in a strange bedroom, trying to heave in oxygen with lungs that wouldn't work except to cough. But he had no air left to cough with. Panicking, he fought with the tight covers, trying to escape the bed, but his muscles were too wasted away to help him, and his state of imminent suffocation only worsened.

He felt the mattress sink as someone sat beside him, a strong arm going around his shoulders, supporting him. "Easy," Rupert's familiar voice told him. A mask was held over his nose and mouth. "Try to take breaths as deep as you can."

Calmed slightly by Rupert's presence, Ethan managed to take in tiny breaths of the swirling gas from the mask. The more he could inhale, the easier inhalation became, and slowly he relaxed, slumping against Rupert in exhaustion.

"Better?" Rupert asked softly as the last of the coughing spasm died away.

Ethan nodded, not yet willing to talk. He reached up and touched the hand holding the mask to his face, fingers shaking like an old man's. He whimpered a little, depressed at the realisation of how he must look to his rescuer who, clearly, he could no longer view as an illusion.

Rupert shifted, the arm around Ethan's shoulders moving in order to pull the strap of the mask around Ethan's head. "Leave it on for a little bit," Rupert said, his arm sliding around Ethan's shoulders again and his other hand turning and squeezing Ethan's fingers, stilling their trembling. "It'll help."

Ethan moved his head back so that he could look up at Rupert. The other man was smiling slightly in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring, but his eyes were full of worry. Ethan knew those green-grey eyes almost better than he knew his own; he'd dreamt of them ceaselessly during the years of torture. Sometimes they'd been angry and accusing, flashing with Ripperish rage, but other times they had looked at him with forgiveness and mercy.

In a tiny voice, he croaked behind the mask, "Why?"

"Why did I come for you?" Rupert asked, seeming to understand Ethan wasn't asking about the mask. "Or why did I take so long?"

"The first." He took a breath. "And why this?" His hand moved within Rupert's, trying to squeeze it back and indicate the care he was being shown, but his grip was non-existent.

"Because no one deserves what they were doing to you," Rupert replied fiercely. Then, in a softer tone, he added, "And because I've lost too many friends lately."

"Are we?"

"We were once."

Ethan felt heavy, like doom was truly descending on him; odd considering he was freshly rescued and being cared for with something with more than a passing resemblance to affection. He was so very weak, though, and drained of anything approaching vitality. They hadn't just leeched his magic from him; they'd taken everything he had, apart from the memories. With his slowly increasing lung capacity, he managed to say, "I'm helpless in your power again, Ripper. Must feel like old times to you."

Rupert gave a half-smile, though his gaze was weary. "Actually these times are about as far from those old times as you can get."

Ethan remembered something he thought Rupert might have said to him... in a car? Yes, in the back of a car after being carried from that hellish place. "You're actually in charge of the Council now? That was real?"

Rupert sighed, and Ethan felt him shifting against him. "I'm afraid that is distressingly real."

Distressing? Oh, the Council had been destroyed. Ethan's memories of the conversation the pair had shared immediately after his rescue were uneven and hard to dredge up. He tried to think of some way to express sympathy without engaging in an obvious lie; he was too grateful and too dependent currently to want to upset Rupert. "I'm sorry for your distress." Of course, it still _sounded_ like a lie.

"Thank you," Rupert said simply. "With everything that's happened, I've come to believe the Council's downfall was inevitable." He sighed. "I only wish it hadn't involved quite so much death."

Ethan didn't answer. He'd exhausted his very limited supply of sympathy. There were very few people he gave a fig about; in fact the two of them were both in this room, and his reaction to the death of many Watchers, had he had the energy, would have been far closer to Mardis Gras than wake.

Rupert smiled ruefully. "And you really couldn't care less about any of that, could you?"

Ethan had the good grace to wince a little. "Pointless expecting more from me than I can give, Ripper."

"I suppose it is." There was weary sadness in Rupert's voice.

Ethan looked down, the depression that was dogging his thoughts and limbs becoming stronger. "Sorry to disappoint. I am what I am." It had been enough once.

"I've never understood how you managed to go through life without caring for anything." It wasn't said as an accusation, but more with genuine puzzlement.

"I wouldn't say 'anything'," Ethan replied. He began to pull feebly at the mask; it was starting to irritate him.

Rupert helped him remove it and carefully set it aside on the bedside table. "You do make me wonder sometimes, Ethan."

"About what precisely?"

"You."

Patiently, Ethan replied, "Yes. What about me?"

"How much of the Ethan I know is just...construct. How much is real."

"You used to know that." Ethan shifted against Rupert, trying to turn slightly and get more comfortable.

"Did I?" Rupert asked, even as he helped Ethan move.

"Yes," Ethan insisted, laying the side of his face against Rupert's shoulder. "You would strip me of my defences as carefully as you would my clothes." He felt almost like he wanted to cry; time for a subject change as that would never do. "What's a bloke got to do to get something to eat around here?"

The arm that Rupert had wrapped around him was more of an embrace than support now, and it tightened at the question. "Do you feel up to eating?" he asked, voice rising hopefully on the question.

Ethan wasn't sure he could actually manage the mechanics, but... "I'm hungry. I haven't eaten in so long; they fed me through tubes." There had been so many tubes and wires of various kinds attached to him, like he was just a component in a big machine. "I became convinced my teeth would fall out. Well, it was something to think about. Passed the long hours, you know."

"They're all still there," Rupert assured him, then shifted, moving Ethan from his arms back to rest, propped up on the pillows. "We'll have to start you off slow. I'll fetch you some broth."

"Oh, gruel. Goody." Hungry though he was, Ethan really didn't want Rupert to leave the room.

"You have to start somewhere." Rupert smiled at him and squeezed his hand as he stood. "I'll be right back, I promise."

Ethan couldn't quite hide his fear as Rupert left the room. Closing his eyes, he sagged into the pillows and concentrated on listening to the sounds the other man made as he moved around the... house? Flat? Ethan guessed they were in England; there was something decidedly British in the furnishings, but he couldn't know where from just lying in bed. He thought that maybe he had briefly been in a hospital before coming here. He certainly had had a lot of dreams about the prison labs, and some of them seemed oddly benign for what normally went on when he was in the presence of people in white coats.

He must have dozed a little because the next thing he was aware of was Rupert softly saying his name.

Ethan opened his eyes. There was a nice smell in the room; one that made his stomach gurgle, but first he had to cough again. Fortunately, it was over much sooner this time around the maypole.

Rupert had put down the tray he was carrying and moved to support him once again as he coughed. Ethan smiled up a little blearily at him now. "I'm okay. The gruel smells good."

"Only the best," Rupert replied dryly, reaching for the tray and placing it over Ethan's lap.

Ethan looked at the bowl of broth and the spoon beside it. Hesitantly, he reached down to pick up the spoon. He could see his fingers shaking even before they closed around the utensil, and as they did, Rupert's hand closed around his. "Allow me?" he asked Ethan softly.

"I'm reduced to the level of a helpless babe-in-arms," Ethan commented despondently, dropping his hand to his side. "Does revenge feel good?"

Rupert flinched. "I never wanted this," he said fiercely as he scooped some up of the broth and brought the spoon to Ethan's mouth.

Ethan wasn't going to refuse the broth, no matter how demeaning it was being fed. He opened his lips and allowed Rupert to empty the spoon carefully on his tongue. The broth was hot, but not burning, and it tasted like the most wonderful pleasure there was on Earth. "Please sir, can I have some more?"

"As much as you can handle," Rupert replied, refilling the spoon and bringing it back to Ethan's lips. There was something about Rupert's expression as he did so that Ethan couldn't quite read.

After swallowing, Ethan asked, "Something wrong?"

"Did you really think that I had... that I knew what you were going through? That I was happy about it?"

Ethan shook his head slightly. "No. Well, not most of the time. Most of the time I just thought you didn't care beyond being glad I wasn't around to bother you and yours anymore." He turned his head away as the spoon rose again; the lump in his throat would make swallowing impossible. Self-pity was never attractive; he knew that, but considering what he must look like currently, that was the least of his worries.

Rupert didn't answer for several long seconds. "I thought... Nothing's ever been able to hold you for long. I didn't give it much thought because I was sure you had got free. I never..."

"Even Houdini got himself stuck in the end." Ethan had control of himself again as Rupert's obvious distress reassured him a little. "They took my magic, Rupert. All of it." He reached for the hesitating spoon with his mouth.

"I know." Rupert resumed feeding him. "Now."

Ethan concentrated on the broth for a while. It seemed surprisingly filling for what was, after all, little more than water. When the bowl was half-empty, he refused any more. "I clearly have a stomach the size of a shrew's now."

Rupert moved the tray aside. "Considering how long it's been, that's more than a good start."

Ethan was tired, but he didn't want to surrender to sleep again just yet. "Where is this place?"

"London. One of the Council's properties that didn't get blown up."

Oh. "So I'm a prisoner of the Council now. Perhaps the home team's eager to take their turn at torture? They really shouldn't bother; this cow's been sucked dry. Fit only for the glue factory now."

Rupert frowned at him. "Self pity doesn't become you, Ethan. As for whether you're a prisoner," he waved a hand at the door, "you're free to leave whenever you want."

"Very amusing, Rupert. Best joke I've heard in... hmm, let's see. _Years_."

"You did catch the part where I'm in charge of the Council now?" Rupert asked patiently.

Feeling cross and strangely hurt, Ethan turned his head away from Rupert and shut his eyes. "Yes. I'm _your_ prisoner; your helpless infant. Well, if you don't mind, your squalling brat needs to be put down for the night now. Don't worry, I don't require a nipple."

"You really don't know me at all, do you?" Rupert sighed and handed over a cell phone. "You're not my prisoner, Ethan. If you're that desperate to get out of my presence, my assistant will arrange whatever transportation and aid you need, to wherever you want to go." He stood and gathered up the tray.

"What am I meant to do with this?" Ethan asked, staring blankly at the mobile.

"My assistant, Ms Smythe-Tompkins, is on speed dial one," Rupert said, heading for the door. "If you want to leave so badly, she'll make whatever arrangements you need."

Feeling quite desolate, Ethan waited until Rupert had left the room and then very quietly he murmured, "Never said I wanted to leave."

Turning to muffle shameful sobs into the pillow, he wasn't aware of the door opening again, or that Rupert had come back in, until the other man sat on the bed beside him, reaching out and laying a hand against Ethan's back.

Ethan tensed and fought to stop the tears. He heard Rupert sigh, and then he was being pulled up into Rupert's arms once again. "No," he cried feebly, trying to push the other man away. Rupert didn't get to see this side of him; not without lengthy and proper rituals. That was the way it had always been.

But he didn't have the strength; Rupert just absorbed his struggles and continued to hold him, much like he had every time after those selfsame lengthy and proper rituals, providing comfort. Ethan couldn't fight so he just sagged in Rupert's arms, no longer holding back the tears, too exhausted to care anymore.

Rupert held him through it all, murmuring, "I've got you, you're safe," over and over. And at first the words just made it worse as he couldn't believe them and yet needed to desperately. But then, as darkness started to take him, and sobs faded to whimpers, the tone of Rupert's voice, if not the words themselves, began to calm Ethan. He nestled in the other man's arms.

It wasn't long before he was fast asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Giles didn't even try to get any sleep that night. As always, there was plenty of Council work to do, and he spent most of the time busy with that, going over reports from their recovering field presence. It was just the right level of mind-numbing; he was able to forget the man asleep in the other room for whole minutes at a time.

Giles checked on Ethan again, hovering just inside the doorway and watching him sleep. It was ironic really, he mused, to find himself so preoccupied with this physical representation of the most chaotic and irresponsible time of his past now that his life was nothing but responsibility.

There was a noise from the bed; Ethan was coughing in his sleep again. The doctors had warned Giles that Ethan's lungs would always be weak now and prone to infection, but the heavy doses of antibiotics should help to clear up a lot of the more wracking attacks in time. If Ethan stuck around long enough for the full course of treatment, that is.

Giles was under no illusions; freedom had always been important to Ethan, and he had no doubt it would be even more so after the man's ordeal at the hands of the American military. He understood that the accusations which Ethan had thrown at him had come from that need, and Giles knew that he had reacted badly, quite probably in the worst way he could have.

He sighed, staring at the far too thin man in the bed. Ethan had always had an uncanny talent at getting under Giles' skin; it seemed he hadn't lost that knack.

The coughing eased quickly, but now Ethan began to whimper quietly and twitch under the covers. Ethan's face was turned to Giles, who could see Ethan's eyes moving back and forth beneath the lids – nightmare. Crossing the room, Giles sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out and touching Ethan's shoulder.

"No... help..." Ethan's eyes shuttered open, staring up at Giles without recognition.

"Ethan?" Giles asked softly, not sure if the other man was truly awake yet.

Slowly the wide-opened eyes blinked and then Ethan seemed to relax as he became more aware, but his expression grew miserable. "Oh, bugger it," he muttered and turned away.

"Don't," Giles heard himself say.

Ethan didn't move, but asked, "Don't what?"

"Don't shut me out." It was a chance he was taking, he was aware, but if he didn't push Ethan at least a little, experience told him he wouldn't get anywhere with the man.

Turning back, Ethan looked sadly at Rupert. "Once you were the only person I was prepared to surrender control to. Now, I don't seem to have the choice; it's just taken from me."

"That's what the prisoner crack was about before you fell asleep?"

Ethan winced very slightly, but then managed to summon a smirk from out of somewhere. "You think I deserve it. Of course you do."

Giles sighed, feeling very weary. "No one deserves what you've been through, Ethan."

No." Ethan shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I meant the loss of control. Because of what I did. What I did to you."

Ah. Giles thought about that, examining his feelings before answering. "Maybe I should," he finally said, although the sight of Ethan like this wasn't satisfying at all. "Why, Ethan? Were you trying to get me killed? Or just destroy me?"

"I've had a lot of time to think about that." Ethan answered without actually answering.

However guilty Giles felt for what Ethan had been through, he wasn't about to be distracted. "Then you should have an answer for me."

"And I suppose, as usual, you're not going to let me get away with avoidance while I'm in your power. Tell me one thing at least, Ripper. Will it still make you happy when the masks fall?"

Giles remembered those moments, back when they'd been together, when he'd been allowed to see the real Ethan and what that had meant to him. "It was always that you trusted me enough to let me see that meant the most."

The corners of Ethan's lips pull up into a mockery of a smile. "You taught me such a valuable lesson about trust; one I've never forgotten. When you left me, that is. Thank you for that."

"I didn't have a choice, did I?" Giles said, voice roughening as he spoke. "I was drowning; you saw that, and you just pushed me in deeper. If I'd stayed..."

"So you saved yourself and damned me." Ethan grimaced and turned away. "Sorry," he added quickly. "That was..."

"Would you have come with me if I had asked?"

Turning back, Ethan met Giles' gaze evenly and said simply, "Yes." Then he chuckled softly and let his eyes drop. "But I would have fought every step of the way."

Giles smiled a little at that, a bittersweet ache at Ethan's words. "When haven't you?"

"I may have a slight problem with things not going my way." Ethan barked with wheezy laughter, presumably at the level of understatement his words contained.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Giles deadpanned in return.

His expression sobering, Ethan reached up to touch Giles' face with the tips of his trembling fingers. The touch was almost unbearably light. Ethan gazed silently for a few long moments and then he sighed. "I couldn't let you go. That's your answer." He shifted uncomfortably under the bed covers.

Giles watched him for a moment, trying to ignore exactly how much old emotion Ethan's touch brought to the surface. "Do you trust me now, Ethan?" he asked finally.

"To do what?"

The answer saddened Giles, but he persisted. "Do you trust _me_?" he repeated.

Ethan hesitated for a long time, his hand falling back to the covers. Giles could see that he was wrestling with the question, or at least with what reply to make. Eventually, Ethan struggled out with, "I... can't."

Giles sighed sadly. Not that he was surprised at the answer; it was, in fact, the heart of why Ethan and he had never been able to make it work for long. But he'd hoped...

No matter. Might-have-beens were just that. Water under the burnt bridge. He had too much depending on him, too much he needed to do, to spend time wallowing in mistakes of the past. He had to concentrate on the here and now.

"Do you want to stay here?" he asked. "Or would you be more comfortable somewhere else? I can hire someone to look after you if you'd rather–"

Ethan completely ignored Giles' question, returning to his previous one. "I trusted you once. You were the only one who ever..." He stopped, frowned, and then Giles could almost see the masks rising back into place. "So, Rupert. Do I get the exquisite pleasure of peeing into a bottle while you hold it, or is there a bathroom you can help me to?"

"There's a bathroom if you think you're up to it," Giles said, accepting the shifting of the subject to something less fraught with emotional bombshells for them both. For now at least.

"Let's say I'll make a special effort for the occasion."

"All right then." He stood up and helped Ethan push the covers back.

Ethan slowly swung his legs to the edge of the bed, and he paused, frowning at the soft flannel pyjamas draped around his shrunken frame. "I hope you made the most of me naked," he said with a slight smile.

The memory of exactly how wasted Ethan's body had become was one that Giles was doing his best not to dwell on. It made him want to take apart the men responsible with his bare hands, and he and the Council couldn't afford to take on the American military so directly, even that small a portion of it.

Not yet at any rate.

But that wasn't what he needed to say, or what Ethan needed to hear, not right now. Giles slid a supporting arm around Ethan's waist, preparation to help him stand. "The doctor wouldn't let me take advantage," he replied in kind.

Inch by painful inch, Ethan shuffled himself to the edge of the bed. He was doing so much better than expected, but he was still a long way off having the muscle strength to stand up unaided, and Giles had to half-lift him. Very slowly, they made their way out of the bedroom, but just getting Ethan that far had caused a faint sheen of clammy sweat to break out on the invalid's skin. His expression spoke of barely controlled pain and fear, and he clung to Giles as if terrified of falling.

Giles tightened his grip as they made their slow way to the bathroom. "I'm not going to let go," he murmured, trying to ease some of that totally uncustomary fear. "I've got you." As they reached the bathroom door, Ethan tried to speak, but it turned quickly into a cough. "Easy," Giles said, stopping and holding most of Ethan's weight as the spasms went through him.

Once they eased sufficiently for Ethan to speak, he launched into a little speech. "Never let it be said that I'm not a generous man, Rupert. I have such a plenitude of abject humiliation that I'm going to share some of it with you now." He paused to cough briefly again, but recovered quickly. "You get to help me urinate. No, don't thank me. This is something I have to do."

"Words cannot express my gratitude," Giles said drily. He took Ethan's words as a hopeful sign, however. They were a hint of Ethan's old spirit, and any of that was to be encouraged.

Together they made their way into the bathroom. Ethan stared down at the bowl as if it were a puzzle beyond his comprehension. He started to quiver, and for a few moments, Giles feared the other man would start weeping again, but then Ethan said quietly, "Will you hold me up?"

Giles squeezed lightly with the arm he had around Ethan's waist. "Said I wasn't going to let go, didn't I?"

With shaking hands, Ethan fiddled clumsily inside his pyjama trousers and then set about what they had come in here for him to do. Perhaps as a distraction, he said, "When this act in the carnival of the grotesque is over, I want to see a mirror."

Giles wasn't so sure that was a good idea, but on the other hand, he knew it would have been one of his first demands as well in this type of situation. "All right," he agreed mildly.

Ethan didn't take long. He'd been dehydrated for such a while that his body seemed unwilling to give up much liquid now. Finished and put away, he said determinedly, "Mirror."

After a moment's hesitation, Giles helped Ethan over to look in the bathroom mirror.

Ethan's head was bowed as he walked across the floor, watching his feet perhaps. When they stopped, he slowly raised it and then just stared at the image of his own face, his mouth falling a little open. For painfully long moments, the blank gaze continued, Ethan's eyes seeming huge in his sunken face. Then he turned to one side, as best he could in Giles' supporting grasp, and said flatly, "I'd like to go back to bed now."

"Ethan..." Giles began, but then found he had nothing to say, nothing that would help at any rate. So he just quietly said, "All right," and began the long slow journey back to Ethan's room. By the time Giles had helped him back into bed, Ethan was an almost deathly white and seemed withdrawn into himself as if in shock.

Giles pulled the blankets up over Ethan, worried at the way he had curled up. "Talk to me, Ethan," he said, softly, trying to draw him out, keep him with him.

Ethan lay still, eyes open and staring fixedly at nothing. Eventually, he murmured something that might have been "...tired."

"This isn't permanent, you realise," Giles said, resting a hand on Ethan's arm. "It's all going to get better."

Again there was a long pause, before Ethan spoke. "How can your bear to look at me? Let alone touch me."

"You're alive," Giles replied. "You've survived. This," and he slid his hand up to cup Ethan's cheek, "the way you looked, never mattered to me as much as it did you."

"Hah!" Ethan coughed out. It was a harsh sound. He tried to wriggle more onto his front, attempting perhaps to bury his face in the pillows.

"It doesn't matter to me, Ethan, truly. It's always been your personality that caught my attention, whether you were making me want to shag you or kick your arse."

Ethan stopped wriggling and looked up at Giles. "And of course, you can hardly resist shagging me now, can you? The desire is evident." He stared pointedly at Giles' groin.

"No, but I'm starting to want to kick your arse," Giles retorted. He sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Shagging you right now would be entirely one-sided." He directed his gaze to Ethan's groin pointedly in return. "That's never been my style."

Ethan blinked at him a few times and then let his head drop back into the pillows, closing his eyes. "Didn't have much after you left," he admitted miserably, lapsing back into the self-pity that Giles was beginning to suspect was simply a new kind of mask. "But I had my magic, and I had my... style. They've taken it all. I'm nobody now; less than a shell."

"Bollocks," Giles said bluntly. He wasn't about to let this particular mask become comfortable to wear. "You held on this long; you're not going to curl up and quit on me now. Your magic, your 'style', those are things that you'll get back, if you allow yourself time to recover." He paused for a moment then continued, "First and foremost, you've always been a survivor. You still are."

"That's just a PC word for 'victim'," Ethan pointed out, but Giles noticed his colour was improving, and there was, perhaps, a slight twist of humour at the corners of his mouth.

"You know as well as I that 'victim' is what we call the ones who don't survive," Giles retorted bluntly.

Ethan looked at Giles, and there was definitely a twinkle in his eye. "So when I'm well enough to get it up again, I can expect a reward, can I?"

"I suppose it's rather inevitable," Giles sighed, under no illusions about the likelihood of them ending up in bed together before this was over. Every time they had run into each other they either ended up shagging or fighting, sometimes both. "Just as long as there's no turning anyone into a demon involved," he added with a stern glare.

"Wasn't that even a little bit fun?" Ethan asked.

"Waking up in a demon body, being unable to communicate with anyone but _Spike_, and being hunted down by my Slayer? What could possibly be fun in that?" After a moment's pause, honesty forced him to admit, "All right, chasing that blasted woman, Walsh, wasn't entirely without its merits, but still."

"Thought it might help you to let go a little," Ethan told him. "You seemed very uptight at the time."

"Let go?" Giles echoed in disbelief. "Buffy almost killed me!"

"She never got anywhere near killing you, Rupert," Ethan said with smug confidence. "Fyarl are almost impossible to kill without a _pure_ silver knife, which that letter opener she was playing with most certainly wasn't."

"I almost killed you, as well," Giles reminded him.

"I believe someone said something about me being a survivor," Ethan smiled.

"Did I also mention 'unrelentingly trying to one's patience'?"

"Ah well, I relent for now. I'm tired, Rupert. And if you don't let me sleep, I might start blubbing again. You know, about my lost looks. It's a great tragedy for the world." Ethan's words were light, but Giles could tell they hid darker things.

"Rest is probably the best thing for you," Giles said, relenting for now himself. He regarded Ethan for a moment, and then leant over and kissed him. Sometimes actions could make a point easier than all the words in the world.

For a moment, both hope and gratitude seemed to shine in Ethan's eyes, but then he closed them. "It seems my personality is radiant today," he murmured.

"Getting there," Giles replied softly. He squeezed Ethan's arm and stood up. "I'll be close."

***_  
_

_**Then...**  
_

"Bugger it," Ethan cursed, throwing the empty tube of liquid foundation in the general direction of the bin. "We need to go to Woolies and fill our pockets again." He added some moisturiser to the small amount of 'golden bronze' he'd managed to recover, and started massaging it carefully into his face. He'd compensate for the lack with the sparkling bronzer, he decided.

Ripper was half reclined on the bed, toying absently with the beer bottle he held as he watched Ethan. "Or we could go lift something that's actually useful. Or fun."

Ethan shot a look Ripper's way. "Make-up is _both_," he insisted.

"I don't wear it," Ripper pointed out. "And you don't need it."

"I do," Ethan said mildly. "When we're out." He studied himself in the mirror and then began to apply subtle touches of glitter over his cheekbones.

"Why?"

Ethan concentrated on the detailed work of subtle glitter application for a few moments. Then he turned to Ripper and smiled, knowing he now looked gorgeous. "It's who I am."

"Yeah?" Ripper slowly stretched and then got to his feet while Ethan appreciatively watched the way he moved. He walked over to Ethan, sliding a possessive hand into the other boy's hair, using it to tug him closer. "Then who are you when you're not wearing it?" he asked in a low intimate voice before devouring Ethan's mouth.

Ethan didn't object, even though he knew he'd now have to redo his lips before they left. Instead he relaxed into the kiss, enjoying the beer and tobacco taste of his boyfriend. When Ripper drew back, Ethan answered the question. "Without it, I don't exist, except to you."

"You're giving a little glitter and powder far too much credit." He stroked a finger over Ethan's cheekbone.

Ethan flinched his face away from the other boy's touch. "Ripper please. We'll never get out if you force me to start again. And anyway, aren't you proud to have someone as artistic as me by your side?"

He got kissed hard again for that. "Course," Ripper all but growled when he pulled back. "But that's got nothing to do with what you've got plastered on your face."

"It is not 'plastered'," Ethan replied with a pout. "I have a very subtle touch, as well you know." He moved his fingertips lightly over Ripper's body to prove his point.

Ripper grabbed his hands – grabbed and firmly pulled away. "Keep that up, and we won't be going anywhere."

"Places and places," Ethan grinned, quite happy to stay in despite the work he'd put into his appearance. "We could try a spell from the new book you nicked."

"Don't have all the ingredients for the one I wanted to try," Ripper told him. "Besides you wanted to hear that new band."

"Cinnamon Tea," Ethan said, providing the name of the group as he turned back to the mirror. "Yeah, I fancy the bass player." He tried hard not to smirk as it would spoil the line of his lips.

Ripper grabbed him around the waist and pulled him back against him. "You just love winding me up, don't you?" he growled in Ethan's ear.

"Why ever would you think that?"

"The amount of time you spend doing it."

Ethan couldn't help the grin this time. "Perhaps I like you fierce and possessive."

Ripper pulled back and looked at him. "You saying that I'm what? A pussy cat? When you're not winding me up?"

Ethan made a perfect pout with his now nicely re-painted lips and blew Rupert a kiss via the mirror. "Now, now, don't get huffy. Shall we say a lion at rest?" He grinned hungrily. "And sometimes I like to see the white glint of tooth and claw stained red with hapless antelope."

"I'm not beating up the bass player for you."

Ethan didn't answer, knowing perfectly well that Ripper would, with the right provocation, do exactly that. But he didn't want to bring out his bloke's stubborn side as that wasn't fun at all. He dropped the mascara tube back in the box and turned to Ripper. "I'm done. Shall we?"

Ripper pulled him close and dropped his face into the side of Ethan's neck, nipping at the skin there lightly. "One of these days, I'm going to throw all of your makeup away." Ethan froze. Raising his head again, Ripper met his gaze squarely. "Prove to you once and for all that you don't need all that shit."

Tightly, Ethan asked, "Please don't."

"You don't need it," Ripper repeated, although he seemed to be softening a little in the face of Ethan's plea.

"I do," Ethan insisted. "Only you can see..." He stopped and looked down. "It's just for you."

There was a long moment of silence; then Ripper was slipping a hand under Ethan's chin, tilting his head back up. He didn't say anything, but there was something in his eyes that made Ethan feel both safe and uncomfortable. It caught and held him so that he didn't object when Ripper leant forward to kiss him again, this time being careful and gentle enough that he didn't smear Ethan's makeup at all.

As the kiss ended, Ethan said a quiet and genuine, "Thank you." Ripper understood. Ripper accepted. He was the only one Ethan had ever trusted enough to let in, and the reward felt good. But even then, like a strong liqueur, he could only enjoy a small amount before feeling sated, and he let his face brighten with his best and biggest grin. "Let's go out then and dazzle the stars from the sky with our brilliance and beauty."

Ripper headed for the door, slinging a possessive arm over Ethan's shoulders as they walked. "Just as long as you don't pick a fight with any of them when we do."


	4. Chapter 4

_ **Now...** _

The first thing Ethan noticed when he woke up was that he wasn't coughing, which spoke highly for the efficacy of the antibiotics and other drugs that had been forced into him via drip and mouth since his rescue. For a few moments, he simply enjoyed that fact. Then the next thing he noticed was that he was quite unbearably hungry. Related to that was the third thing he noticed – Rupert wasn't there. He could hear the low rumble of the man's voice from elsewhere in the small house. Were there visitors?

He lay in the bed for a little while, getting increasingly impatient, curious, and fed up. He wanted to know what Rupert was up to and who with. Wondering how much stronger he might be today, Ethan pulled back the covers and swung his legs carefully out. Using the bedside table for support, he slowly stood up. There. Look at how much better he was. Soon he stood a chance of getting himself a touch of Ripper as a reward. Smiling smugly, he took a step forward...

Only to fall flat on his face as his knees buckled under his own frail weight, bringing the bedside table crashing to the floor along with him.

Before he had a chance to get over the shock of the impact, Rupert was there, pushing the bedside table aside and checking him over with a worried eye and hand. Ethan groaned and rolled to his side. "Bugger."

Rupert let out what sounded like a cautious sigh when he finished his quick examination. "Well, you didn't break anything." He glanced at the debris. "Aside from the lamp." Turning his gaze back to Ethan, his expression went from relief to exasperation. "Just what were you trying to do?"

"You weren't here," Ethan said, and even he had to admit he sounded petulant.

"You could have tried saying something. It works wonders in letting people who are in the other room on the phone– Oh, bloody hell!" Rupert got up and practically ran from the room, returning seconds later with a cordless phone pressed to his ear. "...no, nothing serious," he was saying to whoever he was speaking to. "Just a pillock who can't stay in bed." There was a pause, then a sigh and an affectionate smile. "Yes, Buffy, that would be more or less an accurate translation."

Frowning –well, probably more like pouting actually– Ethan sat up painfully on the floor. Hadn't Rupert said his Slayer was dead? His memories of the conversations immediately after his rescue were growing increasingly vague, a not so good side effect to the drug regimen, he suspected.

Rupert sighed, the sound world weary. "We've already discussed this. I told you my reasons. I appreciate your concern but–" He listened for a minute, his expression softening into warm affection, and Ethan felt another twist of jealousy at how much of Rupert's heart this young girl had claimed.

"Nothing's going to happen to me, I promise," Rupert said softly into the phone. A pause. "Yes, I'm sure." Pause. "No, I'm not going to get turned into a– where did you come across that term anyway?"

Ethan sullenly considered that if his magic would just come back to him, Rupert might quickly stop sounding so confident about his own safety. He leant back against the bed and started to pass the time of the phone call by imagining all the fun transmogrifications he had yet to use on Rupert, a cruel little smile on his face.

"_Dawn_ told– What has she been reading? No, wait, don't tell me. I don't want to know. My hair is going grey fast enough already." Rupert had been pacing as he spoke, but stopped dead when he listened to whatever Buffy was telling him. "No. _No_. I mean it, Buffy, it's not going to happen so don't even try." There was another pause as he listened to her reply. "I was rather put out at the time. Besides I never really thought that they'd actually be able to hold him." Pause. "_No_. Nothing of the sort. It's just... It's not _right_."

Ethan was becoming increasingly angry about the one-sided conversation he was hearing. He didn't want to be discussed like this with that vicious slip of a girl, talked of as if he were a trial and an obligation while Buffy got the tender voice and soft smiles. And anyway, he was hungry and hurting, and wasn't Rupert meant to be looking after him?

He knew he couldn't rise to his feet from this position so he moved forward onto his hands and knees and began to shuffle to the door.

"Yes, I suppose I do. There's far more there than you've ever seen, than anyone's seen. And don't start casting aspersions unless you want me bringing up some of your relationsh– bugger!" Rupert had been facing away, but had turned while he'd been talking to spot Ethan crawling towards the door.

The phone was tossed on the bed, and then Rupert came forward, hauling Ethan into a semi-upright position. "_What_ are you doing?"

Ethan contemplated a number of replies, but then said simply, "I'm hungry."

Rupert looked at him for a moment before sighing. Pulling Ethan into a position where he could, he help him back to the bed. "You could have just said something, you realise."

"You were on the telephone having a charming conversation with your surrogate daughter all about me," Ethan pointed out, a completely false smile on his face.

"Oh for..." Rupert sounded completely exasperated. "Don't you start as well." He looked at Ethan's face then sighed again. "Too late, I see." He got Ethan settled on the bed then picked up the phone and handed it to him. "Why don't the two of you sulk at each other while I go and warm up some food for you. See if you can have it out of your system by the time I get back."

With that, Rupert turned, and if it were possible to calmly storm from a room, then that was what he did, leaving Ethan sitting there holding the phone.

Well, this could be amusing at the very least, he thought, as he looked at the wretched object. Lifting it to his ear, he said, "Hello Buffy," in a pleasant tone.

"Giles, if you don't answer me this sec–" Buffy was saying, but cut she herself off. "Ethan. What have you done with Giles?"

"I turned him into a jackdaw. He's currently enjoying a nice meal of roadkill. Don't worry; he's much happier this way."

"That better be your attempt at being funny," Buffy said darkly, "or I'm going to come over there and break something."

"A nail, perhaps?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of a certain scrawny Englishman's neck."

Feeling perfectly safe, Ethan replied, "Now come, is that a nice way to talk about your Watcher?"

"Right. That's it. I'm heading for the airport to fly over there and kick your ass."

"I'll look forward to seeing you, Buffy. On the way, do you think you could pick up a nice cage? One of the big dome-shaped affairs they use for parrots will do nicely." Oh, this was cheering Ethan up enormously.

"If I do, you'll be the one going in it. Or maybe I'll just improvise. I'm sure I can find a nice cell for you somewhere."

Ethan froze, his mind going places he really didn't want it to go to. "You really are a nasty little thing, aren't you," he said acerbically. "No wonder Rupert left you."

"Nice try," Buffy told him, "but not in the least bit resembling reality. I'm not the one Giles turned his back on."

Ethan found he didn't have an immediate answer for that, beyond the bloody lump back in his throat again. He wouldn't give the bitch the satisfaction of hearing him upset. Swallowing, he forced a response. "Do you torture the vampires before you dust them, little girl? Pulled any nice wings from flies recently?"

"Only the ones that hurt my family," Buffy replied without missing a beat. "And Giles? He's family."

"That would neatly explain the similarity between your unpleasant colonial squawk and the noise my feathered friend here is currently making."

Rupert came back in carrying a tray in time to hear the last, and took the phone back from Ethan while setting the tray across his lap. "I can see you two are playing about as nicely as I expected," he said to both of them. He paused while Buffy obviously said something. "No, I'm not a parrot," he told her patiently, rolling his eyes at Ethan.

Ethan wanted to express his displeasure at the things that had been said to him, but the bowl of hot porridge with its swirl of golden syrup looked far too good to waste in a sulk. Rupert had remembered just the way he liked it; he could even smell the cinnamon. In anticipation of ambrosia, he dipped his spoon in and raised it to his mouth.

"Yes, I'm sure," Rupert continued in the same patient tone. He sat on the bed as he continued to listen. "Of course he did. What did you expect when you accused him?"

The porridge was probably the best thing he had ever tasted, and so it was annoying that Rupert was spoiling the experience by insisting on nattering with that insufferable and vindictive child. Ethan frowned pointedly.

Rupert rolled his eyes again, but nonetheless began to make efforts to end the phone call. "You should be getting ready for class, shouldn't you?" He listened to Buffy's answer, then said, "Yes, I promise." He disconnected the phone and set it down.

"A parrot?" he asked Ethan drily.

"A jackdaw actually. Someone clearly didn't pay attention. She must have been such a trial for you, Rupert. You have my sympathies." The porridge was all gone, and Ethan stared at the empty bowl with dismay.

Rupert smiled slightly. "Would you like some more?"

"Please, sir." Ethan's mouth quirked.

"Eat your toast," Rupert said, leaning over and picking up the empty bowl. "I'll be right back."

There was toast on a small plate, but Ethan didn't want it. It looked dry and hard to eat. "There's no marmalade."

"Fine, I'll bring some marmalade back as well," Rupert said as he headed to the door. He glanced back at Ethan, mouth quirked up slightly at one corner. "You _are_ feeling better."

Ethan thought a little and then nodded silently at the retreating back. He _was_ feeling quite improved today, in body at least. The little blonde bitch's words had hurt though. Ethan lay back against the pillows and amused himself thinking up suitable forms of revenge for once his magic and strength had returned to him. He'd make her eat her words... hmm, there was an interesting image. He and Chaos could surely do something with that.

Rupert was soon back with the porridge and requested marmalade, handing it over with a flourish. He settled on the bed and watched as Ethan dug in.

"This is really very good, you know," Ethan commented between mouthfuls.

"Thank you," Rupert replied, watching him with the strangest half-smile on his face.

Ethan studied him. "What are you thinking?"

"That you're going to eat me out of house and home." The smile became wider. "It's good to see."

"I don't think I can manage the toast," Ethan admitted. "Your little girl has grown up into an untameable shrew I see."

"She gives as good as she gets," Rupert said, reaching for a piece of the toast and spreading marmalade on it. "Or are you going to try to tell me you were a perfect gentleman?"

Ethan's tone was cold. "She told me she was going to put me back in a cell, Rupert."

Rupert froze for a moment then put the toast back down, his expression growing more serious. "That's not going to happen."

Ethan wanted to believe him; he really did. He pushed the tray away and ran his hands over his head and face. The stubble of his hair was growing longer as was the stubble on his chin, but his scalp itched. He dug what nails he had into the thin skin there and scraped. "I feel like I should have a number tattooed on my arm."

"No tattoos as a legacy of this," Rupert said softly, his hand absently tracing the place where Eyghon's mark had been on his own arm. "No records either," he added, changing the subject a little and sounding extremely satisfied. "The Americans will find that their computer system has picked up a virus that has wiped all information from the project, and that all hard copies of the files have disappeared as well."

"I wasn't the only one in there you know."

"I know. That's being taken care of as well."

Ethan nodded, satisfied. It wasn't that he really gave a toss about the other poor bastards being tortured and farmed in that hellhole. It was just that... well, maybe he did care a little. It was good to know an end was being put to it all. "Never again?" he asked Rupert a little ambiguously.

"Not as long as I have the power to stop it," Rupert told him fiercely.

Ethan found he was craving physical contact with Rupert, but he was strong enough today to ignore such urges. Maybe. Or maybe he could just get what he wanted indirectly. "I'm itchy, and I'm fed up with these four walls," he announced.

Rupert lifted an eyebrow. "Do I dare even ask where you're itchy?"

"Everywhere," Ethan replied, rubbing distractedly at his arm. "It's like I'm growing new skin all over. Even my eyeballs itch."

"Do you think you're up to a bath?" Rupert asked, eyeing him appraisingly.

"That depends precisely what you mean by 'up'," Ethan answered with a wry smirk.

"In this case, I mean are you not going to end up drowning." He made a point of glancing down Ethan's body before adding, "The rest I can already see will have to wait."

Ethan frowned; that wasn't what he'd hoped for. Drowning wouldn't be a risk if Rupert was there looking after him. "Perhaps I can do without a bath for now. But please, may I see somewhere other than this room?"

Rupert chuckled. "I suppose I could use some company while I work. Just as long as there's no more wrecking of furniture."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "When I'm better, I'll buy you a nice new lamp. Will you help me downstairs then? Or I could crawl to them and roll down, I suppose."

"As entertaining as that may be, let's stick with more traditional forms of transportation." Rupert stood and moved the tray aside then picked Ethan up.

And so Ethan got what he wanted. "I could get used to being carried everywhere," he said, to disguise his simple pleasure at being held by Rupert.

"So that's why you were trying to crawl away earlier?" Rupert asked, heading out of the room and starting down the stairs.

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked, suspicious.

"Just that resorting to such things is usually not a sign of someone willing to accept help."

"Oh, was help on offer? I must have missed it somehow in my empty room."

Rupert raised an eyebrow. "All you had to do was ask," he said mildly.

"You were busy." Ethan's tone was short. He didn't want to discuss that anymore. He played his fingers restlessly over Rupert's shirt, just below the man's shoulder, as they stopped by a sofa.

"That's never stopped you before," Rupert pointed out, making no move to actually put Ethan down quite yet. His voice softened, and he caught and held Ethan's gaze as he added, "It shouldn't stop you now."

"As your obnoxious young protégé so kindly pointed out, _she's_ the one that matters to you now. And as I am somewhat dependent on you currently, interrupting your charming bonding session didn't seem a wise decision." Ethan was self-aware enough to realise precisely how he sounded, but the awareness served only to increase the feelings that had prompted the remarks in the first place. His fingers on Rupert's chest tightened into claws.

Rupert sighed and sat on the sofa without putting Ethan down first, so that Ethan found himself cradled in Rupert's lap. "Buffy isn't exactly... happy about me helping you. I've informed her that the decision is non-negotiable and really none of her business anyway. That was the discussion we were having when you woke up. I'm sure she pointed out what she did because she doesn't like the fact that _you_ matter to me as well."

Ethan inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, and then relaxed against Rupert. The words felt very good, although he could have lived without the 'as well'. But beggars can't be choosers, and Rupert was holding him, and it felt good. It felt like things had so very long ago, when Ethan had believed they would go on forever. When he'd believed Ripper had loved and needed him as much as he loved and needed Ripper. For a few moments, to help himself feel stronger, Ethan pretended that he believed that again.

"A lot has happened over the last few years, and I find myself re-evaluating what is truly important," Rupert continued softly, as if sharing a confidence he wasn't sure of. "I've lost... more than I once thought possible." His arms tightened around Ethan, the movement seeming unconscious. "I don't want to lose anything, or anyone, more."

It was odd how they were settling back into the comparative openness they'd once shared. Both of them perhaps revealing more than they meant to; both of them being really rather too relaxed with one another, all things considered. It had to be Ethan's helplessness that was causing it, creating an artificial intimacy that took them back to pre-Eyghon days.

Ethan wondered idly if he really wanted to get better at all.

Eyes still closed, he commented quietly and honestly, "I'm truly not happy that you've suffered so much, but as it prompted you to remember who you'd left behind, you'll perhaps forgive me a little ambivalence."

Rupert didn't answer immediately, and for long moments they just sat there in silence. Finally he said, "I'm sorry for what you've been through, truly, but as it's led to you being here with me now, you'll have to forgive me a little of that ambivalence as well." Then in a softer murmur, barely audible, "I'm glad you're here."

And that was almost more than Ethan had dared hope to hear. He couldn't answer it verbally. He snuggled around in Rupert's embrace and looked searchingly into the other man's eyes, stroking light fingers down the side of the familiar face, so altered by time, yet still, for all that, _his_ Ripper. Rupert met his gaze unflinchingly, feelings that neither of them had ever been good at putting into words reflected brightly therein. Then Rupert's mouth quirked up into a tiny half smile, and he was leaning forward to kiss him.

As lips touched lips, Ethan shuddered. It was too much, too tender, and however willing he was to believe, somehow he couldn't quite accept this. Not now and not yet. It was all too much like the fantasies that had filled his long days in the cell – half dreams, half hallucinations that had given him the strength to go on day after day. They had given him the strength to survive. But now, now that this was real, he was terrified. He couldn't risk taking what was offered because he couldn't risk having to lose it again. Ethan turned his head away. "Don't you have work to be getting on with?"

He heard Rupert sigh then acknowledge, "Yes. Quite a lot of it actually." A hand gently but firmly touched Ethan's cheek, forcing his face back towards Rupert. "But I'm not finished here yet." With that, Rupert slid his hand behind Ethan's head and held him in place as he kissed him again.

The forceful, possessive move that spoke so strongly of Ripper undid Ethan's defences, and he melted into the brief kiss, squirming weakly on Rupert's lap and making small sounds into his mouth. When the Rupert drew back, Ethan tried to reach forward to prolong the contact.

"Shh," Rupert murmured, giving him another even briefer kiss. "I don't want to bring on another coughing fit."

"My lungs have been very well behaved today," Ethan pointed out, although admittedly he _was_ feeling a little breathless. "And kissing me like that is more likely to bring on something quite different."

That comment brought him a wide smile from Rupert, not tinged with sarcasm or irony or any of the other things that so often twisted the expression lately. "I don't think even you can recover quite that quickly."

Ethan looked glumly down at his own crotch. "No, probably not. But the spirit is willing." He looked up again, his eyes twinkling. "Can't that be enough?" Rupert just looked at him, seeming caught in Ethan's expression.

With a grin, Ethan started to move on Rupert's lap. He didn't have the strength to make his movements either as firm or as graceful as he would have liked, but he remembered well enough what spoke to Ripper and tried his best to reproduce it. And he could feel the other man responding to his movements, but then Rupert grabbed him by the waist and held him still. "No," he said quietly. "Not like this."

Ethan wasn't quite ready to give up, even though he was already feeling tired. "It could have wonderful healing properties that you're denying me." He smiled.

"You're just going to have to heal the old fashioned way," Rupert replied, kissing Ethan briefly again before helping him off his lap to sit on the sofa beside him.

Had Ethan really been as improved as he'd been trying to pretend, he would have protested at being moved, but instead he slumped back into the soft velour and momentarily closed his eyes. "Wouldn't say no to a cuppa," he remarked. He opened his eyes to smile as he added, "If you're making, of course."

"I can be," Rupert said easily, heading into the kitchen.

While he was gone, Ethan took the opportunity to look around. It was a very English room, from an England of many decades ago. Small and compact, and decorated in dark, sombre colours, it was exactly what Ethan would have expected in a discreet Council of Watchers' safehouse. Tidy and sensible, vaguely Victorian, it was free of adornment, and everything seemed to hold an imbued seriousness within it.

But there was at least one thing here that made it clear that the resident Watcher was not quite the tweed-dulled cliché one might expect. "You still have it," Ethan called out, smiling hugely. The kitchen adjoined this small living room cum study so he knew Rupert would hear.

"Have what?" Rupert asked, appearing in the doorway.

"Your guitar," Ethan said, nodding at the item in question, which was leaning against a small bookcase.

"Ah." Rupert smiled. "Yes. Even manage to still play occasionally, although not in front of an audience for a few years."

"You have an audience now."

"You want me to play for you?" Rupert was still smiling at him.

Ethan smiled back, but didn't answer directly. "Do you remember our lazy Sunday afternoons?" He half-shut his eyes as he continued, summoning evocative memories. "Usually we were still hungover from the rituals or parties of the night before. We'd drink hair of the dog and eat cold leftovers, then share a box of twenty B&amp;H while you sung to me."

Rupert's expression softened with the memory. "I missed those afternoons the most," he admitted quietly. "When I– When it all fell apart. I couldn't bear to play for years afterwards."

For a long time, Ethan had thought that it had been easy for Ripper to leave him and that everything prior to that had been a lie, at least on Ripper's part. Ethan had nursed a grudge over decades, based on 'facts' he was beginning to doubt had ever been anything of the sort. He stared uneasily at the man who in one way or another had shaped Ethan's entire life since they'd first met as boys.

The high-pitched whistle of the kettle interrupted the moment before he could say anything else. Rupert gave him an apologetic smile and disappeared back into the kitchen. Ethan rubbed his face through his hands, feeling more than a little shaken by the intimacy and revelations of the conversation so far. Nothing was making much sense really. Maybe he should just stop thinking about it and count his blessings... while he still had them. One thing he felt certain about was that this idyll wasn't going to last.

Rupert was back a moment later carrying two mugs, one of which he handed to Ethan. "No hair of the dog this time."

"It could have some interesting reactions with that drug cocktail you have me on."

"Mostly those are antibiotics," Rupert said, sitting on the sofa beside him. "But yes, mixing some of the prescriptions you're on with alcohol is not advised."

Ethan inhaled the steam rising from his mug. "You know, it's the simple things that are making this all so–" He stopped, being unsure what adjective he wanted, but then settled upon, "Real."

Rupert reached over, resting a hand on his shoulder as if reassuring him he was really there. "You never imagined tea?"

"Not so vividly as this," he said after taking a sip. "God, that's good. It should be an international crime against humanity to deprive an Englishman of his tea."

"I'll see what I can do about making it so," Rupert said dryly.

"My hands are shaking a lot less," Ethan said, feeling satisfied with the obvious progress. But then, as if fate wished to spite him, he felt the urge to cough welling up inside. With a pained frown, he held his mug out urgently to Rupert, not wishing to scald himself on top of everything else.

Rupert took the mug from him and then quickly put both mugs down on the table beside the sofa as Ethan began to cough. Like he had many times already, Rupert moved to support and hold him through the spasms.

As the coughing died down, Ethan leant back against Rupert wearily. "Well, that was fun." There was a hitch in his breathing, giving him an unpleasant wheeze. "Oh, smashing. That's attractive."

"Perhaps I should take you back upstairs so you can use the inhaler," Rupert said worriedly, rubbing a hand in gentle circles on Ethan's chest.

"I just want my tea," Ethan insisted. And he didn't want to be alone up there.

"I'm not sure you'd be able to hold the mug right now." Rupert's hand slid down to cover both of Ethan's, which were shaking again.

Ethan looked down at the muddle of hands and listened to his lungs whine with every inhalation. He quietly repeated, "I just want my tea."

"I just want you to be able to breathe," Rupert told him. "We can have our tea upstairs."

"Can't you bring the sodding device down here?"

Rupert stilled, and Ethan could feel the other man looking at him. "I can see what I can do," Rupert said finally, letting go of Ethan and standing up.

The inhaler apparatus consisted of a large gas canister on a trolley and various smaller pieces of gadgetry. It wouldn't be easy for Rupert to move on his own, and Ethan knew it. He looked gratefully at the other man, but said only, "Take care on the stairs."

"Just stay put," Rupert replied a bit gruffly as he headed up the stairs. "We don't need anything else broken, whether it be lamps or bones."

Obedient for once in his life, Ethan didn't even reach forward and attempt to lift the mug of tea again. He listened worriedly to the various bangs and clanks upstairs and then craned his head to watch as Rupert carefully pulled the contraption down one step at a time. It wasn't that Ethan never felt guilt; it was just that usually he had a natural skill for completely ignoring it. And yet watching Rupert, and imagining what would happen should he fall, Ethan found the feeling quite demanding.

He had no idea what to do with it.

Rupert made it down safely and then wrestled the contraption into place beside the sofa before glancing over at Ethan, frowning at what he saw. "Are you all right?"

"Lungs hurt a little," Ethan lied. Actually the wheezing was already fading, and he was having to fabricate it so that Rupert wouldn't feel he'd dragged the damn thing down here for nothing.

"Hopefully this will help," Rupert said, handing him the mask, worry clear in his face.

Ethan held the mask to his mouth and breathed in the mixed gases. He felt his lungs clearing almost instantly and looked longingly at his cooling tea on the table. He wondered how long he needed to pretend he still needed the mask before it made Rupert's effort of bringing the canister down here worthwhile. He wasn't used to giving a damn about such things and had no idea of the answer.

"Better?" Rupert asked, as he settled on the sofa beside Ethan again.

Ethan frowned. This was a fine time to develop a conscience when his one of his first tastes of tea in three and half years was about to become unpalatably cold. He mentally pulled the wings off Jiminy Cricket and trod on the little git. Then he donned an old mask of his, while removing the more material one. "Yes," he smirked at Rupert, having used the inhalants for less than a minute. "May I have my tea now?"

Rupert stared at him for a few moments. Then, with what looked like an expression of disgust, he wordlessly handed the mug of tea over. Somehow the tea didn't taste quite so wonderful anymore.

Rupert was still sitting beside him, sipping from his own mug, but he remained silent, staring across the room and pointedly not looking at Ethan. The silence was painful, and Ethan found he couldn't swallow his tea. He held onto the mug and let it grow cold.

Finally, as Rupert moved to get up, presumably to be about his work, Ethan said very awkwardly, "I, um, think an apology may be in order."

Slowly, Rupert turned back to him, one eyebrow raised. He still didn't speak, however.

This was agony, like pulling teeth for torture, and Ethan stared miserably at the other man. "I'm sorry, Rupert. It was ungrateful of me to upset you."

Rupert let out a slow breath, then nodded slowly. "Apology accepted." He looked down at the mug in Ethan's hands. "Would you like me to make you another cuppa?"

Ethan shook his head. "I am going to practice sitting quietly, I think."

That brought the ghost of a smile to Rupert's mouth. "Don't strain yourself." Ethan smiled up at him weakly, and Rupert continued, "You should wear the mask for a while; see if we can't prevent another attack." He reached out and took the mug from Ethan and then headed for the kitchen with both in his hands. Just before he got there, Rupert stopped, and without turning around, offered, "I suppose I could play something for you, if you still want me to."

Ethan, still awash with unaccustomed guilt, had no idea what he'd done to deserve such a reward. "I... I'd like that." Rupert nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

Obediently, Ethan replaced the mask and used the moments Rupert was away to close his eyes, sighing softly. He reviewed his situation. Being here, with Rupert, after nearly four years of imprisonment and torture, was as close to heaven as Ethan was ever likely to reach. But in this heaven, Rupert was God, and Ethan's actions could provoke another fall from grace at any time, should he piss his old lover off too much. The thought of losing all this was already panic-inducing, and it was only going to get worse, the more accustomed Ethan came to being cared for by Rupert.

If he had any sense at all, he'd ask to be moved to some impersonal and professional care facility now. But after surviving on a diet of dreams for so long, dreams of what he was now being given for real, Ethan simply didn't have the strength to refuse. He knew he couldn't survive the loss of Rupert again so... he had to change. Ethan had to become something new, become what Rupert wanted him to be, so that he would be allowed to stay in heaven and in God's arms.

He had to become an angel.


	5. Chapter 5

Giles was beginning to wonder if Ethan had suffered some kind of brain damage that the medical examinations hadn't detected.

Ethan was recovering well physically, regaining strength and weight and health daily. He was able to walk short distances on his own now without risk to himself or the furniture, and the last couple of days had seen him not only up, but dressed in something other than pyjamas. The cough was still there, but that was much improved as well, only really making an appearance when Ethan pushed himself a bit too hard.

Physically, Giles couldn't have asked for better progress, but... After those first few days during which Ethan's emotions had been understandably all over the place, he had settled down into a placid, pleasant, helpful demeanour that was so far from the Ethan that Giles knew that he couldn't help but worry about brain damage. He kept waiting for a hint of Ethan's old fire, kept waiting for him to make acerbic comments about the Council or the Slayers, or anything really. But Ethan remained remarkably mild and civil, discussing the subjects with an absence of sarcasm, and even going so far as to offer to help with some translations Giles was trying to do.

If it wasn't brain damage, Giles was also beginning to wonder if one of them was going insane.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Giles returned home from a visit to the new Council headquarters and found Ethan sitting with his legs up on the sofa. The convalescent was wearing a studious expression as he typed into Giles' laptop; he must have circumvented the password somehow. Leaning against the doorway, Giles cleared his throat, wondering with something that felt like fond anticipation what mischief Ethan was getting into now.

Ethan looked up at the noise and smiled pleasantly. "Hello Rupert. I hope your meeting wasn't too stressful."

"Just the usual," he replied, brushing away the ever-present arguments and power struggles the meetings had become recently. "I see you've found something to keep you distracted."

"A small attempt to be useful, nothing more." Ethan put the laptop down and rose unsteadily to his feet. "Would you like a cup of tea? I have everything ready in the kitchen. I just need to switch the kettle on."

Giles quickly moved forward to be able to steady Ethan if he lost his balance. He wanted to ask Ethan if he was sure he wasn't overdoing it, but had enough sense to stifle that question. "You've been busy," he said instead, adding, "Tea would be lovely, thank you."

Smiling gratefully for the momentary support, Ethan shuffled slowly to the kitchen. "So did they ratify the new procedures you've been working on?" While Giles, of necessity, had kept the specifics of his Council business private, he'd seen no reason to lie about the generalities of his work.

"No, not yet," Giles replied, the memory of the meeting making him frown. "They want to review them some more." Which translated, really, into them fighting him every step of the way.

"I'm sorry," Ethan said sympathetically as he disappeared through the door. There was that strange pleasantness again; it was unnerving to discuss the Council in any capacity and not have Ethan make some kind of cutting comment.

Giles drifted after the other man, hovering in the doorway to watch. Ethan was moving slowly and carefully, but he seemed for all of that to be well in control of the situation. Indeed, it appeared he had a system all worked out; the pot was set up in the sink so that Ethan could support the kettle on the side as he poured the boiling water. After carefully standing the kettle upright again, he turned to Giles.

"Trust me?" he asked, in a tone of mild censure.

Again, far more mild than Giles had come to expect from Ethan, but still a rebuke. Giles held his hands up and backed away. "I'll leave it to you," he said, heading back out into the living room.

The laptop caught his attention, and he went over and sat down on the sofa in front of it, checking what Ethan had been so busy typing. Giles felt more than a little flabbergasted at what he found. Ethan had located the files Giles had been working on last night, and the painstaking translation work, which had given him such a headache, now seemed nearly complete. Ethan always had been rather good with the Urgat family of languages, but still... What was surprising Giles was not that Ethan had done the translations so well, but that he had done them at all.

There was a noise from the kitchen door, and Giles looked up to see Ethan carrying a single mug of tea using both hands. Giles jumped up, but restrained himself from going over when Ethan shot him a look.

"I can manage a single mug, if I'm careful," he assured Giles. "I've had this morning to practice." He handed over the mug once he reached Giles and then headed again for the kitchen, presumably for his own. "If you'd been gone another hour or so, I would've finished that passage for you."

"Why?" Giles heard himself asking before he gave the question any thought.

Ethan paused. "Why did I do the translation?" Giles nodded, watching Ethan closely. "Well," he began slowly, "I've nothing else to occupy my mind with beyond the hell of daytime TV, and I thought I should try to earn a little of my keep. Do you mind that I did it? It seemed to be causing you a spot of trouble yesterday."

"It was," Giles readily admitted. "And no, I don't mind; I just... I didn't expect it."

Ethan smiled uneasily and left the room, soon reappearing with a second mug. Feeling a bit befuddled about the whole situation, Giles said, "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome." Ethan sat down with a steadying hand from Giles at his arm, and cupped the mug in his hands, obviously savouring the smell. "So what's on the agenda for this afternoon then?"

"Well, I had been planning on working on that translation, but since it's already almost done, I actually seem to have some free time," he replied. There was always paperwork he could be doing, but nothing that was calling to him as strongly as trying to figure out what was going on with Ethan.

"I'll finish it for you after this little break. Oh... I forgot the biccies." Ethan placed his mug down on the table and started to struggle to his feet again. This close up, Giles could see fatigue on the other man's face and an increased pallor to his skin, which was, admittedly, always far too pale these days; four years without sunlight having bleached it of all of the usual rich tan.

Giles reached out and grabbed Ethan's arm, stopping him from rising. "I'll get them," he said. "You don't want to overdo it." Ethan didn't argue; in fact Giles would have said Ethan looked relieved as he relaxed back into the couch. Giles made a quick trip to the kitchen to get the requested biscuits, setting them down where Ethan could easily reach them without having to move. Resuming his earlier seat, Giles sipped at his tea while watching the other man.

Ethan noticed the attention and shifted on the cushion. "Have I done something wrong, or are you simply practising your chosen profession?"

There wasn't, Giles reflected, any way that you could casually inquire: 'why aren't you being exasperating?' Instead, he asked, "How are you feeling?" Maybe he'd get an answer that would shed light on the situation.

"I'm a little tired," Ethan answered cautiously. "Why?"

"You've done a lot today. I just want to make sure that you don't pass out in your tea."

Ethan grinned, looking more like his usual self. "I'll be sure then to put the mug down if I feel a fainting fit coming on."

Feeling a bit better for the quick display of something approaching the kind of behaviour he expected from Ethan, Giles smiled and said, "I'd appreciate that. I didn't go to all the trouble of rescuing you just to have you drown in a tragic tea incident."

Ethan's gaze dropped. "I do appreciate the trouble you went to," he said sincerely. Before Giles could react in any way to the uncharacteristic meekness, there was a sharp rap on the front door.

Putting his tea down, Giles bit back his irritation at being interrupted and went to answer it. On the other side stood his assistant, Pamela Smythe-Tompkins, holding a large concertina file full of papers. "Mr Giles, I am sorry to disturb you. You accidentally left the East Asian Consortium case behind. I thought I'd deliver it to save you having to drive back at this time on a Friday."

"Thank you," Giles said dryly, taking the file from her and thinking rather wistfully that there went the illusion of having the afternoon free.

Pamela seemed to be hesitating in the doorway. "Sir, you do remember there's a deadline on the Tokyo report, don't you? I could come back later to collect it, or..."

"It's done," Giles stepped back holding the door open further for her to come in. "Give me a moment, and I will get it organised; you can take it back and make sure it gets to the proper people." He headed back to the living room, aware that she was following him.

Ethan looked up as the pair walked in and sat up a little straighter. He frowned quizzically at Pamela. "Good afternoon. Um, have we met before?"

Pamela, clearly taken back at being addressed by Ethan, and probably also at finding him relaxing in Giles' living room, stuttered at first. "I, er... you may remember me from the aeroplane, although I believe you were unconscious for most of the flight." She turned to Giles and said urgently, "Sir, may I have a private word?"

"Ethan, this is my assistant Pamela Smythe-Tompkins," Giles introduced first, since she had neglected to do so herself. "And apparently, we'll be right back," he added, as she walked back out into the hallway.

"Sir," she hissed fervently as the door was pulled to. "Please tell me that you at least have him magically bound."

The suggestion took Giles aback, even though perhaps it shouldn't. "That would be adding insult to injury, don't you think? Considering what's been done to him for his magic these past years?"

"Sir, with all due respect, don't you think you may be letting your, er, past history with this man blind you to the danger he poses to both you and the Council?" Ah, so she'd found the files on his past, had she?

"What do you suggest?" he said coldly, finding himself getting annoyed, even though he understood how reading those files could create her fears. "Chain him to his sick bed? That wouldn't be greatly different from the pillocks who tortured him for the past three years, would it?"

She flinched visibly at his tone, but persevered nonetheless. "While no one deserves what was done to him in that place, he _is_ an inveterate criminal and a known devotee of Chaos. His crimes are sufficient to ensure imprisonment in a _humane_ establishment for many years to come."

"A humane establishment wouldn't be able to hold him," Giles said bluntly. "Not without some fairly inhumane measures undertaken."

"Never the less, sir, is it really wise to have him sitting freely in your front room?" She gave Giles an intense frown. "You have _Council_ documents in there, sir." There was a slight noise from behind the door, which both of them heard. Pamela's brow wrinkled further.

"I doubt there is anything in those documents that would interest Ethan beyond making fun of my translations," Giles said, heartily tired of the secrecy for secrecy's sake policy that still hung on from the old Council and which had always had made his teeth ache.

"And what about the personal danger to you, Mr Giles? May I remind you how essential you are to the restoration work going on? You are vital to the new Council's survival in these early stages." While she wouldn't say it, it was clear Pamela thought Giles was being highly irresponsible.

The door opened. "Miss Smythe-Tompkins," Ethan said, and as Giles turned he saw a hint of a familiar and dangerous smile on the other man's face. "While I am unarguably flattered that you are so preoccupied with my existence, may I suggest you continue your charming conversation in the living room, where I can enjoy it in comfort?"

"Indeed," Giles said, moving back into the room in question himself. "My tea is getting cold."

Pamela stuttered and shot a demanding look at Giles, as if expecting him to do something about the outrage. Ethan chuckled at her as he shuffled back to the sofa, but Giles could see from his movements that the other man was in pain.

Ethan stopped before sitting down and paused. Finally he turned around and asked Pamela, "May I offer you a cup of tea? It's freshly brewed."

When Pamela didn't answer right away, Giles put in, "I can assure you it isn't poisoned." He sat down on the sofa, hoping that doing so would encourage Ethan to sit as well before the man collapsed. Still, despite the physical weakness that was so evident to Giles, there was something about the way Ethan was standing that spoke of the old spark he'd been missing.

Ethan waited, apparently patiently, for the woman to compose herself enough to reply. Pamela primped down her skirt nervously. "Um, thank you for the, er, offer. I'm not currently thirsty, however."

Ethan's mouth quirked slightly. "Do sit then... unless of course you believe I've somehow impregnated this delightful Council three-piece with the stuff of raw chaos?" There was a wicked gleam in Ethan's eye that Giles thought perhaps he shouldn't have been quite so glad to see.

"Better not have," Giles said, leaning back against the sofa, knowing he shouldn't add to the situation, but not quite able to help himself. "I had them steam-cleaned just before you showed up."

Ethan lifted a quizzical eyebrow. "Showed up?"

"Moved in?" Giles suggested instead. "How do you suggest I categorise your arrival?"

"Well, as I wasn't conscious for it, I'm not sure I'm qualified to say, but I didn't exactly call around unexpectedly one afternoon and then refuse to leave." Ethan sighed. "Miss Tompkinson-Smythe, won't you _please_ sit down? While the accuracy of your impersonation of a very large and nervous pigeon is commendable, I'm afraid you're just making me hungry." He made a gesture with his hands like a cat flexing its claws.

Pamela's expression immediately fell from a flustered half-smile to an offended frown. "Mr Rayne," she said, somewhat imperiously, "My name is Smythe-Tompkins; please endeavour to get that right if you feel you must address me. I'm here to collect some work from my employer, not to make idle chitter-chatter with... malicious criminals. So if you don't mind, I'd rather stand."

Giles leant forward and began flipping through the files, looking for the one in question. Other than that, he remained silent and unobtrusive; he would step in if things got too messy, but it hadn't reached that point yet. And indeed, might never, as Ethan fell silent, looking down into his tea.

Clearly believing she'd scored a point, Pamela puffed herself up and crowed, "What's wrong, Mr Rayne? Don't you like hearing the truth about yourself?"

Giles noticed Ethan's hands tightening around the mug, and then, as Giles continued to carefully observe the other man, a slow and nasty looking smile stretched Ethan's lips. "You'll never have him, you know," he said, in a taunting tone. "Uptight, anal and prissy just isn't his style. Well, anal maybe... but not in any way someone like you would ever consider."

Giles opened his mouth to correct Ethan's perceptions, but catching sight of Pamela's expression silenced him. The look in her eyes told him that Ethan wasn't as far off as Giles had thought.

Blushing and unhappy, Pamela looked beseechingly at Giles. "Sir, I can assure you that... And really, should you allow him to speak to me like...? I really don't know what–" she stopped herself, probably realising that she was only making things worse. "Perhaps you could let me have that report, and I'll be on my way."

Silence reigned from the other end of the sofa, and when Giles looked over he saw Ethan looking almost as unhappy as his foolish assistant, which was somewhat inexplicable considering how successfully Ethan had just won his little war of words.

Giles stood up with the Japan file in his hands. "I'll see you out," he said, keeping his voice professional as he crossed over to where Pamela was standing.

She took it from him without meeting his eyes and they walked to the door. Giles opened it, and she walked out onto the street, turning to say in a genuinely apologetic tone, "I'm sorry, sir. I had no idea." Clutching the file under her arm, she walked along the pavement to her car. Feeling bemused and wondering what rumours this was going to lead to around the Council, Giles watched her go, then shut the door and headed back to the living room.

Ethan wasn't there.

After a moment's alarm, Giles heard him moving about in the kitchen "Ethan?" he said softly, pausing in the kitchen doorway.

"I'm sorry," the other man said immediately, without turning around from the sink where he seemed to be washing up their mugs. He sounded upset, and his rigid posture and jerky movements emphasised that impression.

"For what?" Giles asked, genuinely puzzled.

Ethan's hands were shaking as he scrubbed the inside of a mug. "For my rudeness. For outing you. For disappo–" He stopped talking abruptly.

Giles blinked, things starting to click into place with that cut off word as key. He quickly crossed the room, gently taking the mug out of Ethan's grasp and setting it aside before taking Ethan's hands into his own. "Firstly, you weren't any ruder than Pamela was. Secondly, I couldn't care less what or whom anyone thinks I'm sleeping with. And thirdly," he softened his voice, "what makes you think I'm disappointed?"

"I..." Ethan swallowed, staring at their interlocked hands. "I've been trying so hard. It isn't easy for me, but I know that's not a good excuse." He looked up, meeting Giles' gaze briefly. "I've _tried_."

That certainly explained the overly good behaviour that had been so worrying Giles. "I can tell," he said, raising a hand to lightly touch Ethan's cheek. "And all of this best behaviour was because you thought I'd be disappointed?"

Ethan frowned and then grimaced. Then he said, "Do you think we could sit down?" While it was an obvious attempt to avoid the question, it was equally obvious that if Ethan didn't sit down soon, he would fall down. Giles nodded, and they headed back out to the sofa. He kept hold of Ethan's hand the entire way, sensing the need for continued contact. "I'm very tired," Ethan said as they slowly made their way. "I may just take a little nap on the couch."

"I don't doubt you are tired," Giles said. "You can nap after we talk." Sinking into the sofa, Ethan shut his eyes and failed utterly to converse. Giles sighed, realising it was, as usual, going to be up to him to press the point. "Why are you so worried about disappointing me?"

Ethan remained motionless and silent for so long that Giles wondered if he actually _had_ fallen asleep, but then Ethan murmured, "I like it here."

The answer surprised Giles, although he was certainly pleased to hear it. The thought that Ethan may want to stick around this time... "I like having you here as well," he said, sliding a hand along Ethan's arm. "You don't have to... put on an act for that to be true."

"I do," Ethan insisted, the words emerging as part of a heavy sigh.

"Not for me." Giles moved his hand to trace Ethan's features. "You know I've always preferred you without the masks." He smiled slightly. "This one must particularly chafe."

"You say that..."

"I mean that."

"No."

"No?" Giles asked, eyebrow raised.

Ethan pressed his cheek into Giles' hand, his eyes remaining resolutely shut. "Maskless me wasn't good enough for you to stay with back then, and now I..." His face screwed up, and he pushed his head back into the sofa's cushions. "Now you aren't just part of the establishment that you chose over me, now you bloody well _own_ the establishment, near as damn it. And I'm just a broken-down wreck, a 'malicious criminal' who's lost both looks and magic. Who... who..."

Ethan began to shake violently, so violently that Giles was scared that the other man was having some kind of fit before he realised that what he was seeing were sobs being fought every single step of the way.

Without thought, Giles shifted, pulling the other man into his arms. "Who has always been able to get under my skin," he said, finishing Ethan's broken off sentence. "Who has always been able to see things that others can't and has never been afraid to act on that knowledge." He hesitated, not finding it easy to speak his deepest feelings, but knowing it was needed in this situation. "I've only been in love twice in my life. One was Jenny, the other's you."

And with those words, Ethan collapsed against Giles, no longer fighting the sobs, and holding Giles as tightly as his still meagre strength allowed. He was saying something against Giles' shirt, but the distortion of the emotion and the muffling of the cloth combined to make the words unintelligible.

"What was that, love?" Giles asked, choosing the endearment purposefully.

Ethan drew back a small few inches, sniffed, and said, "Never stopped."

Giles let out a long breath, surprised at how much those two words meant. "Well, good." He leaned forward and kissed him. "Makes things easier."

Ethan's gaze finally met his. "Things?"

"This. Us. Life."

Ethan did a passable impression of a deer caught in headlights. "I... What... oh God." He swallowed hard. "Rupert," he started, in a feeble attempt at his usual sardonic tones. "Would you mind awfully being a teensy bit more detailed about what's on offer here? If indeed anything is." He smiled shakily. "Please?"

"You. Staying here, with me." Even with the conversation before, it was still difficult to voice what he wanted, some superstition making him leery of putting it into words. "Seeing if we can actually manage some kind of relationship that doesn't involve us tearing each other apart."

A shiver passed through Ethan, and he laid the side of his face on Giles' shoulder, snuggling close. "I'm a broken man, Ripper," he admitted, in a low, guileless voice. "You've done with kindness and... and love, what four years of hell at the hands of American soldiers and scientists could not. You've taken me apart. And now you're offering to rebuild me using yourself as the glue, which is all very well until you decide you've had enough. I can't survive that again. I'm not... I'm not what I was."

"None of us are." Giles slid his hand over Ethan's back in gentle, hopefully soothing circles. "The changes aren't necessarily bad though. Not if they've led us back to each other."

Ethan seemed to start to say things, several times, but stopped himself. Eventually, he just sighed, and with one hand, he began, rather inexplicably, to unbutton Giles' shirt. Giles didn't say or do anything; he just watched and waited to see what Ethan would do next.

One by one, the buttons were undone, until Ethan reached the waistband of Giles' trousers. Then, with a flat hand stroking over the hairs of Giles' chest, Ethan pushed apart the two sides of the shirt and moved so his face was lying on the exposed flesh. He pressed a few soft kisses down and then relaxed.

"I wanted skin," he explained.

It was an answer of sorts, Giles thought, and he wrapped his arms around Ethan with something like a contented sigh. "Whatever you need," he murmured, "all you have to do is ask."

Ethan's fingers played lightly across Giles' chest; it was a very familiar sensation. "Whatever?" he asked, and Giles could tell the other man was grinning.

"As long as it doesn't involve changing anyone into a demon," Giles qualified, feeling his own mouth pull upwards into a matching grin.

"I was thinking of lesser transformations," Ethan said, his fingers dancing lower and fluttering inside Giles' shirt where it remained tucked into his trousers.

"Are you sure you're up to such... transformations?"

"That's not the question currently," Ethan said archly, taking his hand out from Giles' shirt and finger walking down the fly of his trousers.

Giles could feel his body reacting to the touch. "It is the question for me," he said, reaching out and touching Ethan's face lightly.

"Whatever I need, you said," Ethan reminded him, and flattened his hand out over the growing bulge in Giles' trousers, rotating his palm very slightly.

"And this is what you need?" It was difficult not to arch into Ethan's touch; it had been so very long.

"Yes." Ethan looked up at Giles, smiling hungrily. "Very much so." His hand squeezed.

Giles' eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. "Well, then..."

The movements of Ethan's hand became firmer, more determined. He squeezed and rubbed through the cloth. At the same time, he straightened up sufficiently for his mouth to be in reach of Giles'. "Whatever I need, Ripper," he said, and his tone and attitude were almost those of a different man from the one who, just a few moments earlier, had been sobbing in Giles' arms.

Giles had a second to wonder about how quickly Ethan's moods could change, and if this were just another mask, before Ethan was kissing him. Giles pushed aside his doubts, sliding a hand behind the back of Ethan's neck and holding him in place as he kissed back.

Showing remarkable energy for a man who'd recently seemed so fatigued, Ethan wriggled half on top of Giles, looping a leg across, and melded their mouths together. Ethan's hand stayed where it was, the heel of it rubbing firmly up and down Giles' erection, occasionally pausing for fingers to cup and squeeze.

Finally, Giles managed to gather sufficient wits and co-ordination to catch his breath and his thoughts. "I think," he said, covering Ethan's hand with his own and stilling its very distracting movements, "that we should take this discussion upstairs."

If they were going to do this, they were going to do it right.


	6. Chapter 6

As Rupert laid him down on the cool bedcovers, Ethan tried to hold onto him, but Rupert gently pulled away. They were in the master bedroom, and Ethan was glad of that. He'd grown to thoroughly dislike the four dingy walls of his own.

Rupert stood at the side of the bed and pulled his open shirt from his trousers, shrugging it off. Ethan whimpered quietly. Rupert was older, but still decidedly in shape. But it really wouldn't have mattered if he'd grown fat and puffy; Ethan would still want him desperately. Because he was Ripper. Because he was the only person Ethan had ever loved or even trusted in his whole debauched life. And because, in the end, Rupert _had_ rescued Ethan and saved him from a death by exquisitely slow torment.

"I thought you said you didn't want to torture me," Ethan remarked, turning his thoughts into something lighter.

Rupert paused with his hands on the fastenings on his trousers. "Do you want me to stop?"

Ethan considered a very sarcastic retort, but discarded it in favour of the milder: "No, I'd rather like you to hurry up actually." Rupert smiled sardonically and finished undressing without another word. Looking over him with desire he didn't try to hide, Ethan found himself chuckling. "Um, would you mind terribly coming here a few moments, Rupert? I'd like to verify something if I may."

Still smiling, Rupert stretched out on the bed beside him. "What do you want to verify?"

Ethan flicked his hand into the air in an extravagant gesture, like a stage magician starting a trick. Then he took Rupert's hand and lifted it, carrying it over Ethan's trousers where he pressed it gently into his groin. "Hey presto," he said, looking very smug.

Rupert's smile grew heated. "Looks like you're making a quick recovery," he said, cupping and squeezing Ethan's erection through the cloth that separated them.

Ethan's head tipped back. It had been so long since he'd felt anything approaching sexual pleasure, and for it to be Rupert's hand and not his own touching him...

He reached out blindly to return the favour, and the fingers touching Ethan faltered for a brief second then resumed as Rupert leant in and kissed him long enough to steal his breath.

"Don't you think you're overdressed?" Rupert asked him, pulling back.

"Quite possibly," was all Ethan could find to say to start with as his breathing recovered. He wrapped his fingers tightly around Rupert's cock and held it, enjoying the simple pleasure of its hardness in his grip.

Rupert pushed his hips forward, encouraging the touch, and kissed him again, nibbling on Ethan's lower lip. "Should I do something about that?" he asked. Ethan nodded, smiling slightly.

Pulling back just a little, Rupert ran his hand down Ethan's side then back up underneath the material of the sweatshirt he was wearing, pushing it up slowly. The hand felt warm and sensual on Ethan's skin, and he moved towards it almost unconsciously.

To be touched intimately by loving hands, after so long with the only human contact being latex-gloved scientists with needles and other torture implements, or rough soldier lackeys to whom he was no more than cargo – it was almost too much. "Rupert. Oh God, Ripper, please..."

The shirt was pulled over his head, and Ethan found himself being pulled close, skin to skin now. "Whatever you need," Rupert murmured against his lips as he kissed him lingeringly, seeming unable to pull himself away from the activity for long.

"And you are quite sure you mean that?" Ethan felt he needed to check, before stating what he was after. "And no," he added with false patience, "I don't want anyone transformed into a demon."

Rupert pulled back enough to meet his eyes seriously. "If it's within my ability. Anything you need, Ethan."

Meeting the other man's gaze more or less levelly, Ethan said, "I need Ripper."

Rupert stared at him searchingly for a long moment then kissed him roughly, possessively. "Whatever you need," he repeated, the old familiar accent sending shivers down Ethan's spine.

Harder than he would have thought possible at this stage of his recovery, Ethan writhed against Rupert –Ripper– and let himself be kissed as demandingly as the other man liked. With his arms wrapped around his lover, Ethan tried to persuade him to roll on top. Ripper resisted, instead sliding a hand slowly down Ethan's chest, finally coming to rest on his cloth-covered erection.

Ethan moaned, tipping his head back, and thrusting his hips up to meet the hand. "More, please," he demanded, through nearly gritted teeth. "Harder too, if it wouldn't be too much bother."

Ripper chuckled and squeezed him tightly for a brief second. "Like that?"

His breath caught. "Yes, but more so. Please."

Letting go long enough to undo Ethan's trousers, Ripper pushed them down out of the way. Sliding down his body, Ripper settled over Ethan, his face directly above Ethan's cock. "Said I'd give you what you needed, didn't I?" he asked, before taking the head of the cock into his mouth.

Ethan's hands clenched in the covers. "Ripper... Oh, make it hurt. Make it so I know I'm not dreaming." In response, Ripper scraped his teeth along Ethan's entire length, his hands moving to Ethan's hips to hold him down.

Wonderful pain, the _right_ sort of pain, caused Ethan to tense his muscles and hold his breath. "Not..." he started to say, and then swallowed as Ripper did something with his tongue around the head of his cock that Ethan could somehow feel in his balls. "Not lost your knack then, old chum."

Ripper chuckled at that, which did wonderful things to the cock within his mouth.

Squirming a bit on the bed, Ethan tested Ripper's grip on his hips. Fingers tightened to almost bruising intensity, keeping Ethan still, and he moaned. He looked down, being careful to keep his gaze only on Ripper as he didn't want to see his own body at all at that moment. Well, apart from his cock slipping in and out of Ripper's hot and exquisitely cruel mouth. Ethan moaned again and moved his hands to tangle in his lover's hair.

Ripper knew him, knew exactly what he liked and what to do to drive Ethan crazy, and he was thoroughly proving that he hadn't forgotten any of it. He quickly had Ethan on the edge and then seemed to be doing his best to hold him there. And Ethan wanted to come, he really did, but not yet because he knew with utter certainty that he'd be out like the proverbial light as soon as it happened. "Ripper," he said urgently, tugging on the other man's hair. "Please. While that is remarkably entertaining, I... oh."

Lifting his head just enough to speak and look upwards, Ripper asked, "Please, what?"

Ethan grinned raggedly. "Oh please would you indulge this broken old man with the sight of your glorious face as you climax, thrusting hard inside me?"

He watched heated lust flash across Ripper's face, but it was followed by concern and worry. "Are you sure you're recovered enough for that kind of...intensity, love?"

Ethan's mouth crimped. "That may be Ripper's accent, but that's Rupert talking," he said waspishly. "Save the tenderness and concern for when you have a perverse desire for a sobbing has-been wetting your shirt front."

His lover surged up his body, grabbing Ethan's hands and pinning them to the mattress above his head. "Doesn't matter what accent I use or what name you call me," he all but growled, his face hovering a bare inch over Ethan's. "When have I ever taken the game further than you could go, even when you wanted me to?"

The genuine anger in his lover's voice, and the force of the grip on his hands, made Ethan whimper, yearning even more to get what he craved. He writhed under Ripper, pushing up with his hips and wanting, but not daring, to kiss the angry lips just above his own. "I need this, Ripper. You said."

"You think I don't want to fuck you through the mattress?" Ripper asked, punctuating the question with a thrust of his hips against Ethan, who shuddered in response.

"God," he gasped. "Thinking, my friend, has sod all to do with this. I need what I need, and you promised me that." Ethan deliberately made his voice nastier, courting trouble, inviting the savage beast within to come without. "Or like other solemn promises of yours, has that gone the way of cinders in the breeze?"

Anger flashed brightly in Ripper's eyes, but then, to Ethan's surprise, the other man's expression relaxed into one of affectionate amusement. He leaned down to kiss Ethan, the action tasting of relief and exhilaration. "God, I've missed you, " Ripper murmured, when he pulled back enough to speak again.

Ethan looked up sourly at his lover for a few moments, but then found he had to glance away, laughing softly at himself. Turning back, he found himself speaking alarmingly openly. "I couldn't let you go. I tried at first, but without you, all there was of me..." He sighed, shutting his eyes. "I didn't exist, not without my Ripper."

There was that bloody lump in Ethan's throat again. This was exactly why he'd wanted to avoid affection and tenderness in the first place, why he'd needed the hard and savage. When they'd first been lovers, he'd been as open with Ripper as he was being now, but only after hours of mask-shattering intensity in the form of passionate, sometimes brutal sex, or ritual magic, or alcohol and drugs. Or often a combination thereof. Now Ethan kept finding himself laid bare before his lover, sharing his deepest truths, with little or no provocation.

He wasn't lying when he called himself broken.

Ripper dropped a kiss on Ethan's temple. "I need an answer, love. Are you up to what you want, or am I going to have to take it easy on you?"

Glad that he hadn't ruined the mood, Ethan firmly closed the door on the bothersome thoughts and moved sensually under Ripper again. "I daresay I'd have a bit of trouble with your 'through the mattress' scenario, but I do believe I'd survive a spot of more gentle buggery."

"Gentle," Ripper repeated, the word having a bit of a repressed laugh around it. "Right. When I've been wanting to take you again for years."

The words sent little shocks of desire through Ethan's belly and balls, and he panted as he taunted his lover. "That iron self-control getting feeble with increasing senility, Ripper?"

"You've always been the thing that tried my control the most," Ripper admitted and then kissed him again, murmuring, "I don't want to hurt you."

"Which leaves us with a tricky little problem then as I want to be hurt."

Ripper shook his head. "Not the same thing, and you know it, love."

Ethan sighed; even the conversation was making him weary. If Ripper didn't hurry, Ethan wouldn't be up for anything much beyond unconsciousness. "I surrender," he said with heavy irony. "Do what you want, but just... do it."

Ripper kissed him lingeringly. "Never said I wasn't going to," he murmured, eyes sparking with mischief as he slid a hand between Ethan's legs.

Instinctively, Ethan raised his knees, putting his feet flat on the bed, and he pushed up to meet the questing hand. "Oh yes," he groaned. "Yes, please." His wrists were still being pressed to the bed by Ripper's other hand, and he tugged at them, just to feel a little more deliciously helpless.

The grip on his wrists tightened for a moment to the point of true pain and then let go. "Keep them there," Ripper ordered gruffly, as he turned to rummage through the drawer of the bedside table. Other than to turn his head to watch his lover, Ethan didn't move a muscle. Ripper turned back to him, holding the lube, and making sure Ethan was watching as he coated his erection. He then slid his hand back between Ethan's legs.

Ethan wasn't sure he'd ever wanted Ripper quite so much as he did now, and when the cool wet fingers touched between his buttocks, Ethan's hips rose up in an instinctive thrust, and his eyes closed as he gasped. He didn't move his hands from above his head however; the ghost of Ripper's grip on his wrists seemed as strong as iron chains.

"You've always been a wanton," Ripper commented, and Ethan could feel the man's gaze on him, as fingers stretched and teased.

"With you," he agreed, through gritted teeth. Oh God, it had been so long.

Ripper leant over and kissed him again, drawing the action out, tongue and fingers echoing each other's actions. "Tell me again that you want this."

Ethan knew from far too much experience that a sarcastic response at this point would only produce the immediate withdrawal of his lover's attentions, so he bit it back and tried to obey the instruction. With his eyes still shut, he forced out one word at a time. "I. Want. This."

"Good," was Ripper's response and the fingers disappeared, only to be replaced after some movement with Ripper's cock. All the air left Ethan's lungs in a broken cry of his lover's name.

Ripper stilled when he was buried deep. "Open your eyes, love." Not really wanting to, Ethan obeyed. The intensity of Ripper's gaze caught and held him captive. He knew his own eyes were probably revealing far more than he would ever be comfortable with, but he couldn't look away.

As Ripper started to move inside him, Ethan tried instinctively to wrap his legs around the other man to grant better access, but his thigh muscles were still too atrophied, it seemed; almost immediately, he was forced to drop them to the bed again. And as his gaze was affixed by Ripper's, he couldn't stop the other man seeing a brief moment of his distress.

Ripper kissed him gently in response. "It doesn't matter," he said softly, and shifted position so that Ethan's legs were resting against his braced arms. The new position let him get deeper, and he quickly took advantage of this fact.

Ethan groaned, wracked with that demanding gut-pull for _more_ that such expert pressure on his prostate always produced. But he was becoming increasingly aware of his fatigue. His head was spinning, and his panting was as much a product of his damaged lungs as it was the passion. "This may be the one and only time I ever ask you for this, Ripper, but a swift" –he paused briefly as sensation threatened momentarily to overwhelm him– "swift conclusion might be advisable."

He caught a flash of worry as it passed through Ripper's eyes, but nothing was said. Ripper just slid a hand between their bodies to grasp Ethan's erection, stroking it in time with his thrusts.

Ethan's brain stopped functioning like a brain at all as the totality of his attention and awareness moved to centre on his cock and arse, the heavy, almost crushing force of rising pleasure between them as he headed inexorably towards orgasm. He was too weak to do anything but writhe helplessly from the non-existent force on his wrists, anchoring him down to the bed. "Ripper. God, Ripper!"

Ripper was thrusting harder now and the look on his face reflected what Ethan was feeling, the same overwhelming rush of pleasure with just a touch of wonder. Instinct found strength in Ethan's body that will had failed to locate previously, and he thrust up hard, lifting himself up on his feet, as he climaxed. Years of desperate need for the man above him seemed to pump from his body and then he slumped back to the bed, whimpering.

Ripper thrust a few more times before he froze and came with Ethan's name on his lips... Then he pulled out and collapsed beside Ethan, reaching out a hand to keep in contact, but the hand wasn't enough.

Ethan rolled over to hold Ripper, not wanting the touching to end. They were damp with sweat and sticky with come, and Ethan knew he'd get cold quickly, but that wasn't the real reason he followed Ripper's warmth like a cat after a patch of sunlight.

"You okay?" his lover asked, wrapping his arms around Ethan, pulling him closer.

"Okay is a very meagre word, don't you think?" he replied, snuggling happily against the other man and closing his eyes.

He felt gentle fingers brush against his cheek. "What you needed?" Rupert asked in a quiet voice.

"Always need it," Ethan replied groggily, sleep already trying to drag him under. "Need you."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Ethan didn't answer and didn't let himself think about the words, just tried to accept them. He mouthed soft, slow kisses against Rupert's skin and then let the comforting blanket of sleep take him, secure in his lover's arms.

***

Arms held Ethan down as he fought to free himself. Not again. He wasn't going to let them do this to him again. Power surged within him, racing to his fingertips, just waiting for the right mystical words to send the bastards flying from him. But the ball gag in his mouth made enuciation impossible, and the soldiers holding his arms stopped him using the hand signals instead. They'd learnt quickly from their earlier mistakes when 'handling' him.

His arms were strapped to the gurney, along with all the rest of him, until he was so trapped that he couldn't even turn his head. Only his eyes could move, watching furiously as the device was wheeled over, and glaring in rage and pain at the white-coated scientist as the git stuck the thick needles deep into Ethan's flesh.

Sensors were attached to his shaven scalp, chest, and immobilised fingers, and then dials were turned on the machine. Ethan jolted helplessly in the restraints, his mind a white desert of pain so intense he couldn't really feel it at all. Unconsciousness would be a mercy, but he knew from experience that it was a mercy which would be denied. No matter how bad the pain got, he would remain stubbornly awake to feel every second of it.

"We're getting good initial levels," said the scientist who was watching the readouts on the device. The digital displays on the machine were producing zigzagging lines with high peaks. The man made marks with a biro on the printout emerging from the side. "Time to test the thresholds, I think."

_"I've always had a high pain threshold." Ethan grinned at Ripper, helpless in the leather restraints and yet feeling powerful and so alive. "You'll just have to try harder, my friend."_

_Ripper smiled down at him, the expression holding a touch of maliciousness. "I've all night. I'll get you to scream."_

_"I'll enjoy your endeavours, I'm sure." Ethan gritted his teeth as his lover let another line of scalding wax dribble down his chest from the lit candle. "You could always take it further, you know."_

_"We've discussed this to death. If you can't set limits, I will."_

_"Limits are like safe words – things for amateurs and innocents, which we are neither."_

_"Pain is one thing," Ripper said, pouring more wax over Ethan's skin. "Injury is another."_

_"I'm not" –Ethan exhaled sharply– "not suggesting anything that wouldn't heal. In time. There may be a few interesting scars, of course."_

_"No."_

_The word was blunt and final, and Ethan knew he'd get no further with the conversation. There was no one in this world as stubborn as Ripper once he'd put his foot down. But perhaps it didn't matter, as a blob of liquid wax landed on one of Ethan's already tightly clamped nipples, and his body jolted as very real pain radiated out from that spot._

Real pain that blossomed and grew, spreading to every part of his body, overwhelming everything, tearing the memory he'd been dwelling on to shreds and dumping him into the hard, cold reality that was bright with agony.

Ethan convulsed on the gurney. He was in real danger of drowning on his own spit if he didn't suffocate from swallowing his tongue first, pushed back in his throat as it was by the gag. Not that they would care if he did; they'd just revive him. Again.

As the pulses of nerve-shock faded to mere pins and needles throughout his entire body, he slumped back and glared at his torturers, challenging one of them, just one of the bastards, to meet his eyes. But as usual, none of them did.

One of the white-coats said, "I think we're getting somewhere, sir. There was considerable fluctuation shown in the energy readouts there, as well as spontaneous burst-emissions of both ultra and intra spectrum matter."

His superior answered, "Maybe a higher voltage would produce a more even flow?"

The first one nodded and changed some dials, while Ethan looked on helplessly, his head held rigid in the restraint and his eyes having to strain to see what was going on. He'd give them a more even flow. He'd give them spontaneous burst-emissions. One day. One day soon they'd make a mistake and then...

Ethan screamed around the gag as the pulsing started again.

***

Giles was jolted from a sound sleep by Ethan screaming. Battle-trained reflexes had him first scanning the room, looking for an attacker, but it was quickly evident that whatever the cause of Ethan's distress, it wasn't external.

He turned his full attention to his lover, who had rolled away from him sometime during the night and was curled in on himself, twitching in his sleep, the scream having trailed off into the whimpers of an injured animal.

After that first afternoon spent as lovers again, neither of them had questioned Ethan moving into Giles' bed, and they'd fallen into a relationship over the short while since that was simultaneously very comfortable and decidedly odd. Nightmares, however expected, had not actually been a part of their nights since they had come together again.

Until now, apparently.

"Ethan?" he said, trying to wake him, reaching out and touching his shoulder.

The sleeping man's arm lashed out like a striking snake. Power cracked across his fingertips and arced across the room to set the curtains alight with a blue-green flame.

"Bloody hell!" Giles exclaimed, dashing out of bed and grabbing the glass of water on the bedside unit to throw on the curtains. The mystical fire was extinguished, although whether or not the water had helped was debatable. A ragged hole was left in the material. As Giles investigated it cautiously, there was a noise from the bed behind him.

"What's going on?" asked a plaintive voice.

Giles glanced back at the bed to see Ethan leaning up on his elbows, blinking dazedly at him, but definitely awake. "You were having a nightmare." Giles' voice took on a bit more of a dry tone as he observed, "I think it's safe to say that your magic is starting to come back."

Ethan sat up, the bedclothes dropping from his chest. He rubbed his eyes and then drew back sharply, staring at his fingertips as if they'd stung him. Maybe they had. "What... what did I do?"

"Set the curtains on fire." He walked back over and sat down on the bed beside Ethan. "Are you all right?"

Ethan automatically started to move towards Giles, for comfort, perhaps, or just affection, but he hesitated, looking back at his hands.

There were so many echoes of the past in everything between them, from momentary glances to the same old jokes being referred to once again. But everything was really so very different as the frightened look Ethan now gave Giles attested.

"I was back in the dear old labs again," Ethan told him; his voice had a dagger-sharp edge to it. "They did things to me in there, Rupert. You... you shouldn't touch me. Not until we know I'm safe."

"Bugger that," Giles said, deliberately reaching out and taking hold of Ethan's hand. "If I'd only touched you when I'd known you were safe, we'd still be waiting for the first time."

Ethan chuckled slightly at that, but still looked nervously at their joined hands. "I think they may have worked out some way to super-charge me. Unlock my inner potential, you might say. Not that it did _me_ any good whatsoever, if that was the case. They drained it all into those battery things of theirs, and I never got a look in." He sighed heavily and then shuddered. Looking up at Giles, he asked, "Do I feel... right to you?"

Giles closed his eyes, reaching out with his seldom-used magic sense. Ethan... felt like Ethan, a wellspring of wild magic, replenished now – replenished almost to overflowing. So close to overflowing, in fact, that something like what happened with the curtains had probably been inevitable. Giles frowned.

When he opened his eyes again, Ethan was smirking at their joined hands. "That felt nice. Care to do it again?" But then he looked up and took note of Giles' expression. His smirk dropped into a pout. "Oh. There _is_ something wrong then."

"More like something is too right," Giles replied. "Super-charged would indeed be an apt term." Ethan lifted his free hand and stared at it. He said nothing, but there was a small smile growing on his face. "That type of smile from you has always made me worry," Giles said, although he couldn't quite keep himself from smiling back.

Ethan met his gaze, now grinning widely. "I feel like me again, Rupert. It's back. It's odd and possibly dangerous, but it's back. _I'm_ back." He raised his hand in order to touch Giles' cheek, but hesitated, frowning. "Erm, curtains are one thing, but I'd rather like the reassurance of knowing I'm not about to burn a big hole in _you_." Apparently too irrepressibly happy to maintain the frown, Ethan's eyes sparkled as he added, "After all, where would I get my free board and lodgings then?"

"I should've known. You only love me for my Council-provided safe house," Giles deadpanned. Becoming serious again, he reached up and brought Ethan's hand to his cheek, finishing the aborted gesture. "The curtain incident should have drained off enough for you to be safe for now."

"I do hope you're right," Ethan said, leaning forward for a kiss.

Giles obliged, smiling as he pulled back afterwards. "Seem to still be in one piece."

"Perhaps we should make doubly sure?"

"Never hurts to confirm one's facts," Giles agreed, leaning in for another kiss.

When they finally broke apart, Ethan craned around in Giles' arms to look at the clock. "I feel like a child on Christmas day. Is it too early to get up?" His grin seemed open and happy.

The bright digital numbers of the clock informed Giles that it was about an hour before sunrise. He looked back at Ethan whose shining eyes did indeed remind him of those of an excited child. "You're not going to be able to get back to sleep anyway, are you?"

Ethan was all but bouncing on the bed. "I want to rip all the wrapping paper away and play with everything all at once." As Giles knew that Ethan had had a difficult and deprived childhood, he found the ongoing Christmas metaphor interesting.

"What are you hoping to find under the tree?" he asked, extending the metaphor himself, curious to hear how Ethan would answer.

"Oh, I don't know," the other man grinned. "I always fancied one of those Scaletrix sets wherein the cars looped the loop."

"That explains the incident with the mini," Giles replied drily. He had never been quite able to figure out how his lover had managed to get the vehicle to move the way it had.

Eyes alive with delight at the memory, Ethan got to his knees on the bed, moving almost like the young man he had once been. He held Giles' face in both hands and planted a wet kiss on his lips, laughing while he did it. "I'd forgotten that day. The upholstery was never quite the same again, was it?" He licked at Giles' lips and drew back. "Oh and Ripper, do you remember that night down in Limehouse with Deirdre in the mini, when we'd convinced her we could fly over the river? Like Chitty Chitty sodding Bang Bang."

"Ruined the suspension for good, that little adventure did," Giles said, remembering the rough ride back afterwards. He watched Ethan with bemusement, finding himself vividly reminded of what exactly had attracted him to the other man in the first place.

Ethan's expression softened, almost sobered in fact. His fingertips traced the most prominent lines on Giles' face, as if wondering where they'd come from. With a little laugh, he stared deeply into Giles' eyes, searching... for what?

Giles held Ethan's gaze, staying perfectly still under the examination, although finally he had to ask, "What are you looking for?"

Ethan shook himself, drawing back and seeming a little perplexed by his own actions. Visibly composing himself, he smiled again. "Hmm. The lost treasure of the Sierra Madre? Or perhaps the crew of the Marie Celeste."

"I'm fairly certain that you won't find either in my eyes," Giles replied in kind, smiling as he let the mood lighten again. Ethan leant forward and initiated another kiss.

Giles rather thought he knew what direction they were heading, and so was surprised when Ethan broke the kiss and said, "I quite fancy a breath of fresh air, Rupert. Watch the sun come up with you, the way we used to. Of course, we hadn't usually reached bed before we watched the dawn back then." Briefly touching their lips together again, he then added, "Do you think you could drive us to the Heath?"

"I think we can manage that," Giles said. It was the first time Ethan had expressed an interest in going outside since he'd recovered enough for it to be feasible; Giles wasn't about to deny any vaguely sane request, even if it had been far more outrageous than watching the sunrise. "As long as there's no flying cars this time."

Ethan looked at his hands again and grinned. "Spoilsport."


	7. Chapter 7

_ **Then...** _

"Spoilsport," Ethan said.

Ripper rolled his eyes and pulled Ethan closer with a tight arm across his back as they walked. It was gone five in the morning. They'd spent the whole evening getting progressively more wasted on cheap lager and expensive weed at a mate's house, until the rituals they were playing with ended up covering the floor with a swarm of transparent centipedes.

That was when Ripper had decided enough was enough, and he'd dragged Ethan out into the cold night air to sober up. But Ethan was as bloody irrepressible as usual, and of course, wanted to do the spell again, now, and with 'interesting' variations on the wording that he'd thought up.

"You're not going to want to stop until we conjure up a herd of carnivorous pink elephants, are you?" Ripper tried to sound stern, but it wasn't something he seemed to be able to manage with Ethan.

"That has a certain appeal. We could let them go after the high tea and twinset brigade down at Henley one Sunday afternoon." Ethan giggled drunkenly. "Nellies amongst the old nellies. Flesh-eating, carmine nellies leaving carnage along the riverbank and trumpeting to the yachtsmen. Give us a kiss, Ripper, my love."

Ripper willingly did so, pulling Ethan flush against his body and claiming his mouth with his own, savouring the taste of alcohol and magic that lingered on Ethan's lips.

The way Ethan melted against him never ceased to speak to Ripper in a deep place, bringing out a level of fierce possessiveness that he hadn't known he was capable of before meeting Ethan. He was such a heady mixture of pliant and deadly, like a stray cat that was feeling friendly... for now. As if Ethan had somehow heard the thought, Ripper felt Ethan's hands spider down over his arse, where the barely perceptible touch suddenly sharpened into claws digging in.

Ripper growled, tightening his own grip to the point where he knew he was leaving bruises. This was another new thing he'd only found with Ethan, this mixture of pain and pleasure. Ethan shuddered and moaned into the kiss, circling his hips and rubbing sensually against Ripper. They were going to end up shagging in the street if they weren't careful.

Reluctantly breaking their lips apart, Ripper held Ethan firmly by his shoulders and looked around at their surroundings. Hmm, Belize Park – they weren't too far from Hampstead Heath. They could trek up Parliament Hill and watch the sun come up.

Watching the sunrise had been something Ripper had done quite often at school; sometimes finishing papers, but more often just thinking about what was out there in the dark, and what he was supposed to do about it. The last month before he had left, he'd been up thinking about forced responsibilities, freedom and choices. It was while watching the sunrise that he'd finally made the decision to choose Ethan over university.

He hadn't had a chance to sit and watch one since and suddenly felt the urge to so now.

"Come on," he said, heading in that direction and pulling Ethan with him.

"Where are we going?" the other boy asked. "Somewhere delightfully wicked, I hope."

"Parliament Hill," Ripper replied.

"That's not wicked... although I suppose it could be... " Ethan's hand squeezed Ripper's as they trotted up Rosslyn Hill. "Are we going to be debauched? I do hope so."

"You always want to be debauched," Ripper pointed out. That was pretty much the reason that he hadn't had a chance for much else since he and Ethan had moved in together. "We're going to watch the sunrise."

"Ah. While shagging like horny goats, of course." Ethan asserted hopefully.

"No, because then I'd be watching you, instead of the sun."

"Oh, I'm sure I could situate myself so that you could see both." Ethan was starting to pull back in Ripper's grip. Either he wanted to slow down or to stop. "Are you seriously going to make me clamber all the way up there just to watch the dawn?"

Ripper stopped and turned to face him. "I'm asking you to come and sit with me and watch the sunrise," he said, holding his lover's gaze. "The choice of whether you do so or not is yours." He let go of Ethan's hand and started walking again, holding his breath as he waited to see if Ethan would follow.

"Hey!" came the slightly outraged complaint as Ripper heard Ethan's footfalls hurrying behind him. "You can't lose me that easily." An arm was threaded around Ripper's waist under his jacket. "I never said I wouldn't come. I always come for you, don't I?" Ethan snickered.

"You didn't sound very enthusiastic," Ripper grumbled, although something had eased in him at the swiftness with which Ethan had caught up to him.

Perhaps responding to the genuine concern under Ripper's words, Ethan sobered a little and said sincerely, "I'll always follow you, Ripper. Wherever you lead. You should know that." Returning to drunken extravagance, he continued, "You're my king, my liege, my commanding sovereign to kneel before. Whither thou goest, I will trot along behind like the good and well-behaved boy I am."

Ripper snorted. "Well-behaved? You?" But he wrapped his arm around Ethan's shoulders, pulling him closer as they walked. As they cut through the maze of side streets, still heading towards the heath, Ethan started feeling inside Ripper's jacket, looking for something. "Not that I'm not enjoying this, but can I help you with something?"

"You've got the nicotine, my dear. I need to warm my lungs up if I'm to get up there." Ethan pointed at the rising green slope of Parliament Hill before them, acting as if it were bloody Everest and not a gentle incline.

Ripper took out the pack, and after grabbing one for himself with his lips, passed it over to Ethan. Instead of searching for his lighter, he concentrated and with a single muttered word, lit the tip of his fag with magic.

"Show off," Ethan told him, but he sounded proud of Ripper's ability with fire magic, which wasn't an area Ethan himself had much talent in. He snuggled closer as they walked onto the grass and started up the slope, apparently trying to get a light for the cigarette in his mouth.

"Saves time," Ripper replied, reaching out and touching his finger to Ethan's fag, lighting it as well.

Ethan inhaled deeply, and then took the cigarette between two fingers as he exhaled. The sky was starting to glow pink on the eastern horizon, and the birds were getting quite excited about the closeness to dawn, their chorus becoming louder. "Nice," Ethan said after a while, and it was unclear if he meant the smoke in his lungs or the glory of urban nature.

"This has always been my favourite time of day," Ripper confided. They climbed in companionable silence for a while, until they found a spot where he thought they might settle on the grass.

Ethan wasn't impressed; he pouted down at the wet turf. "I do hope you're not expecting me to plonk my delicate arse down there. It'll give me something unmentionable. In the unmentionables." He giggled, effectively spoiling the sulk, but it was clear he wasn't about to sit down.

"Complain, complain, complain. You're acting like some overly delicate bint of a romance heroine destined to die of consumption in the final chapter." Nonetheless, Ripper concentrated and used a variation of the spell he'd developed to dry their clothes in an effort to save them money on laundry. _"Exhala aquam viduum."_ The grass steamed slightly for a few seconds, and then he sat down on the perfectly dry patch, looking up at Ethan with a raised eyebrow.

Ethan clasped a hand to what would've been his bosom had he changed sex, and said theatrically, "Oh, Mr Giles, you are such a gentleman. Why, your manners quite put me to shame." He dropped his cigarette butt to the ground, twisting his shoe over it, and then dropped to his hands and knees beside his lover, grinning somewhat evilly.

"Ponce." Ripper reached out and grabbed Ethan's arm, pulling him up and around until he was settled in front of Ripper. Closing his eyes for a brief second, he relished the feel of his lover's body resting against his.

Ethan wriggled, getting comfortable between Ripper's legs. "One might almost say this was quite pleasant," he remarked, and then spoilt it –quite deliberately, Ripper was sure– by adding, "Of course, dawn would be the ideal timing for that nymphs and shepherds spell I was showing you."

"Hush," Ripper told him. "Just be quiet and watch."

So they sat in companionable silence, Ripper's arms wrapped around Ethan, as the glow on the skyline spread through the clouds until the whole of that area of sky was filled with glorious fiery hues. Ripper felt he might be in a painting by Casper David Friedrich. Ethan was motionless, and Ripper rather thought he might be as captivated by the sight as Ripper was, although Ethan would never willingly admit it.

"When I was little, I used to wake up and watch the sunrise from my room," Ripper began in a soft voice, not wanting to break the moment. "Growing up in a Watcher family, I knew the kinds of things that went bump in the night. Watching the sunrise made me feel... safe, somehow."

He felt hands move over his own, stroking softly. In a quiet, thoughtful tone, Ethan said, "I can't imagine you scared of the dark. You burn so brightly."

The way Ethan saw him never failed to amaze Ripper. Was it any wonder he had chosen this over a life of nothing but expectations and responsibilities, where he was seen as nothing but his family name?

"I learnt to fight what was in the dark, but even the best fighter needs to relax sometimes." He tightened his embrace, pressing even closer to Ethan, his next words being whispered directly in his lover's ear. "You make me burn brighter than I ever thought possible."

"Fuel to your flames." Ethan chuckled softly at the thought. "I rather like that."

"Long may we burn," Ripper murmured, turning Ethan in his arms to kiss just as the sun cleared the horizon.

***

_ **Now...** _

Ethan's lungs were burning. They were only halfway up Parliament Hill from the carpark, the sun was already showing over the horizon, and his lungs felt like he'd been inhaling acid. Rupert was being very solicitous, of course, but Ethan couldn't let him see how badly off he really was. Then this pleasant adventure, his first trip out since his rescue, would be over. There was really only one thing for it.

Bending over, pretending to check the lace of the ugly trainers Rupert had him wearing, Ethan separated himself physically from the other man. He didn't want Rupert sensing what he was about. Mouthing silently, _"Incita et restitue,"_  Ethan let the magic flow through his body, energising and healing. This was the way he'd always kept himself in one piece before, no matter the level of debauchery he'd indulged in or what kind of thrashing he took. Yes, there was a price, but payment wasn't due for quite a while yet. With a bit of luck, anyway.

With a spring added to his step now, Ethan straightened up and smiled cheekily at Rupert. "Hurry up, old man. We'll miss the main event." Rupert was frowning at him, but he didn't say anything; he merely nodded and continued on up the hill.

Ethan inhaled deeply. He felt better than he had for many years. Not just since before his imprisonment, but earlier still. This excess of power within him seemed to be charging every cell, making him feel alive and vital. But he had to be careful that Rupert didn't notice as he felt sure the Head Watcher would not approve. Once he would have, but not now. So Ethan kept his pace slower than he would have preferred and his breathing just a little bit laboured.

"You're not fooling anyone, you realise," Rupert told him conversationally.

Oh. Oh well, so much for that. "Might as well stop trying then, I imagine." Ethan began to walk at the speed he wanted to. "Am I in trouble?"

Rupert didn't answer the question directly, instead observing, "I can understand the desire to be better right away."

Ethan was quiet for a while, pondering Rupert's attitude. It was somewhat perplexing. Rupert seemed accepting of Ethan's use of magic, neither approving nor disapproving, but Ethan knew that Rupert, these days, felt strongly that magic purely for the sake of personal comfort was wrong. "It's certainly pleasant to know you're not expecting too much of me," he said wryly in the end.

Rupert gave a half-shrug. "My disapproval wouldn't change a thing, would it?"

It could; Rupert's anger could change everything. Ethan wasn't sure he should admit that, however. If Rupert hadn't worked it out for himself after Ethan's failed attempt to play the perfect houseguest, it was probably best to keep under wraps just how much power he could now wield over Ethan. Ethan was vulnerable enough without adding that to the psychological cake mix.

Feeling a spark of inspiration, he offered, "If you have a use for my magic more to your liking, I'll gladly harness it to the plough, so to speak. I've plenty to spare, after all."

Rupert glanced sideways at him as they walked. "Using the magic to heal isn't necessarily something I'd be against," he said.

Ethan looked over at him, confused but undeniably pleased.

He slipped his hand into Rupert's again as they reached the top of the hill. "You've surprised me. I'd thought, erroneously it seems, that you'd see it as –what was it you used to say?– lighting a candle with a flame-thrower? You use your own power so little, Rupert, which, by the way, and speaking as someone who could have happily sat still for hours just watching you wield it, is a sin and a crime against nature." He winked, trying to encourage lightness in the difficult conversation.

"I still believe that," Rupert said quietly. "It's not that I'm not worried. You're walking a very thin line between using the magic and letting it use you. I've seen what can happen if you lose your balance."

Ethan frowned. "_If_ I lost my balance, Ripper, dear, and I'm not agreeing that I did, it wasn't the magic that tipped me over."

They stopped, and Rupert turned to him. "I was speaking in more general terms, love. The times I've seen what can happen, it wasn't you."

Deciding to let the subject drop, at least for a little while, Ethan slipped his arm around Rupert's waist, wanting to feel him closer. And Rupert, in turn, drew him nearer still. They stood in silence, watching the last few moments of the dawn until the sun was clear of the horizon, and the shades of pinks and oranges were fading from the sky. Then Ethan reached out with his fingertips and gently turned Rupert's face towards him.

Rupert's expression was totally unguarded, and the emotions there –love and wonder, worry and fear– were enough to take Ethan's breath away. So he didn't say any of the things he'd been considering about magic, about them, or about their mutual past. Instead, Ethan found the scaldingly sincere words, "God, I worship you," falling from his lips, and terrified he might let any more appalling truths escape, he surged forward to kiss Rupert's lips with a passion so intense it hurt.

He felt Rupert's arms wrap around him as they kissed, holding him close with an almost desperate strength, almost like he was afraid Ethan would disappear if he let go. Wanting somehow to reassure Ripper, wanting to give his lover something solid, although he didn't know quite what or how, Ethan groaned into the kiss and tried, impossibly, to get closer still.

Rupert finally pulled back, but only enough to search Ethan's face. Whatever he saw there made him smile and kiss Ethan again briefly. "You still make me burn," he murmured.

"Like a candle or a flame-thrower?" Ethan asked with a fond smirk. He was feeling really very happy indeed, and it wasn't a feeling he was at all used to these days.

"Like..." Rupert looked over his shoulder at the brightening sky. "Like the sun," he finally said with a smile.

And that made perfect sense to Ethan as that was exactly what Rupert was for him, what he'd always been: the source of warmth, light, and wonder in Ethan's life. Perhaps the long dark winter that had fallen when Ripper had left was now, finally, over. "I'd rather like to restore my tan then," he grinned. "If that's all right with you."

Rupert chuckled. "As fascinating as the prisoner chic look you've been sporting is, I think I can live without it."

There was a noise from behind them, and they turned to see two largish dogs bounding in their general direction. The owner, a robust-looking older woman, strode closely behind. She whistled her pets to her side to stop them bothering the two men. "Good morning," she said in a brusque but friendly tone, apparently unbothered by the loose embrace they were still sharing.

When she and her dogs had moved by, Ethan turned to Rupert. "Thank you for bringing me here again."

"Thank you for letting me," Rupert replied.

"Fancy a cup of coffee?"

"Desperately." Rupert's mouth quirked upwards. "Shall we find a shop somewhere, or go back to the house?"

"Am I allowed to give myself just a touch more" –he made an extravagant gesture with his hand– "vim and zip?"

"Do you really need it?"

"If we're staying out, yes." Wanting to keep the mood lighter, Ethan added, "Look at it this way, Rupert. It saves on curtain wear and tear."

"All right then." Rupert pulled back, but kept hold of Ethan's hand as they started back down the hill. "We're going to have to talk about that, but coffee first."

After a few moments consideration, Ethan decided that had indeed been permission he'd just heard. Of course, he could have just recharged himself and said nothing to Rupert, but for some reason it felt more comfortable to be told he could first. He shut his eyes as they walked, trusting Rupert to guide him, and intoned, _"Incita et restitue."_ He let the power surge through his cells again; God, it felt marvellous. Absolutely bloody grand.

Ethan tried his damnedest to prevent over-spill into Rupert via their joined hands, but soon realised that his control of this extra magic wasn't subtle enough yet, and some escaped. Once they had played with magic that way for the unadulterated bliss such games sometimes induced, but Ethan knew things were different now. "My apologies. I hope that wasn't too unpleasant for you."

"No, it wasn't, quite the contrary." Rupert's grip on his hand had tightened during the spell, almost to the point of pain, but now he seemed to make a conscious effort to loosen his fingers. "That's the problem."

"I should have let go."

Rupert's grip tightened again. "No."

Ethan was confused and ever so slightly alarmed. "I... I didn't mean to tempt you. I know once I would have, but I know that you... Oh bugger. Am I ballsing this up?"

"No," Rupert said again, stopping and reaching up with his free hand to touch Ethan's face. "It's just that you're not the only one who has to relearn balance, which isn't necessarily a bad thing."

They were quite close to the road now, and even at this time in the morning, there were still a fair few people about. But if Rupert didn't care, Ethan certainly didn't either, and he moved his cheek softly against his lover's fingers. Ethan did care about what Rupert was saying, however, and he frowned. "I'm getting the decided impression, dearheart, that there's something I don't know about. Something that happened while I was, heh, gone, perhaps?"

"There _was_ an... incident," Rupert admitted rather haltingly. "Involving a coven, a grief-stricken witch, borrowed and stolen magic, and almost the end of the world. Again. I almost died as well, but given the imminent end of the world, that doesn't seem much worth mentioning."

Ethan stared hard at Rupert for a few moments and then turned and started walking again, now with a far brisker pace. "We're going to drink strong black coffee, Rupert, and I am going make myself a pain in your delectable arse until you've told me all about this."

"You mean you'll stop being a pain in my arse after I do?" Rupert asked bemusedly as he fell into step beside him once again.

Ethan chuckled. "Only if you want me to."

***

_ **Then...** _

"Well, this is scintillating, I must say," Ethan complained, chucking the book to one side. The two boys were lounging on their bed doing what Ripper referred to as 'research', and what Ethan preferred to describe as 'stifling creativity'. He rolled over and grabbed the box of fags and the ashtray from the upturned tea-chest that served as their bedside table currently. "Magic, in my humble opinion, should be fun."

"And this will be," Ripper replied, not looking up from the book he was reading. "Once we prepare."

"I'm afraid, my dear, you are still labouring under Watcher's Academy indoctrination," Ethan replied with a fond smile; Ripper was at his most adorable when concentrating hard. "What this will be then is _predictable_." He lit up and lay back on the bed, inhaling deeply.

Ripper finally looked up at that, his eyes meeting Ethan's over the top of his book. "I haven't heard any complaints about my magic before."

"You're not hearing them now." Ethan blew a long stream of smoke directly up into the air. "If I don't help with this murder of spontaneity, then the results will still be a surprise to me. Therefore it is my intention to conscientiously object until the barbarity is over."

Ripper lifted an eyebrow in response. "You have to know the basics of a spell before you can effectively play with it."

"Of course you do," Ethan smirked, his words utterly insincere. Apart from anything else, Ripper was insisting on researching in far more detail than Ethan would ever consider calling 'the basics'.

"Fine," Ripper said, eyes narrowing dangerously. He put the book carefully aside and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why don't you demonstrate?"

The hint of anger in Ripper's eyes made Ethan harden a little just from seeing it. "Aw, come now, don't be such a crosspatch. You get on with the undoubtedly vital work of research, and I'll play a supporting role." He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly through his nose.

But Ripper's expression had turned stubborn. "Oh no," he said, voice low and challenging. "You're convinced I'm wasting my time, go ahead. Prove it."

Ethan sighed theatrically. Clearly he wasn't going to be allowed to relax this afternoon. "Your wish is my command. Or should I say, your command is my wish?" He sat up, stubbing his fag out in the ashtray, and then faced Ripper. "Half the joy of magic is never knowing quite what you'll end up with. That's the difference between art and craft, my friend. Any schoolgirl with the right book can learn a spell by rote and make some boy want to kill himself for her, but you and I, Ripper, we're artists."

Raising his hand between the two of them, Ethan splayed his fingers out as if holding a ball, and said casually, _"Ex tempore componere."_ An uneven ball of fuzzy red light appeared, hovering above his hands. "Behold, the clay, and now... we sculpt." He held out his other hand to the side, palm up, inviting Ripper to play.

Looking more interested than confrontational now, Ripper reached out and took Ethan's proffered hand, palm to palm, fingers entwined. That hadn't quite been what Ethan was planning, but this was all about improvisation, after all. He lifted their joined hands and slowly moved them inside the darkly glowing ball, gasping as a shock of unaligned power shot down his arm and entered his body.

Ripper immediately, instinctively, took hold of the magic, adding his own and twisting the two centres of power together. As Ethan watched, the corners of Ripper's mouth turned up into the beginnings of a smile of delight.

Ethan's own mouth was hanging open a little. He wasn't trying to shape or move the magic at all, allowing Ripper to control it as he would. All Ethan did was to maintain as steady a supply as he could manage, considering the distracting pleasure that the raw power swelling in every cell in his body was bringing to him.

The ball of power grew, expanding its circumference until it surrounded him, and Ripper, and the bed they were sitting on. They were in the power and the power was in them, and Ripper was there with Ethan, pushing him to lie flat on the mattress and covering Ethan's body with his own.

If Ethan could have spared brain synapses to think with, he would've noted that this high was vastly beyond any drug-induced euphoria he'd ever known. Not even mescaline had come close to this. But his mind was rapidly moving to another plane entirely, where, instead of thought, there was only sensation and realisation. He wrapped himself around Ripper and clung to him, feeling as if he were on a wild and dangerous fairground ride.

Clothing seemed to melt away, leaving them skin to skin, and even that wasn't close enough. Then Ripper was inside him, moving in time with the pulse of magic as it poured over and through them, until Ethan couldn't tell where they ended and the power began.

The natural, normal boundaries between them collapsed. The merging of their power was a melding also of their minds. Not so much on an intellectual level, as the rational brain was not connected to this experience, but on an emotional and spiritual basis. Ripper was inside him, in every cell, and he was inside Ripper. One of them was laughing, or maybe crying, and Ethan had no idea which mouth the noises were coming from.

Their climax was overwhelming, a moment of perfection that seemed to go on forever, bonding them to each other, and to the power itself. And afterwards, for a very long time, they just lay there, Ripper still on top of Ethan, until they began to realise once again that they were separate entities.

It felt like he was being torn in half when Ripper eventually rolled from him, and Ethan made a small, desperate noise, trying not to weep. But his lover reached out and pulled Ethan over, wrapping his arms around Ethan and holding him with the same desperation that Ethan felt.

"Ripper. Oh God, Ripper," he moaned, only half-aware of what he was saying. He wanted to start the magic up again, become whole again, but the well had run dry, for now at least. Ethan buried his face in the crook of his lover's neck and clung.

Ripper didn't say anything, just held him tightly as the feeling of loss gradually faded to something that didn't ache quite so much. As they both began to regain their equilibrium, Ripper's grip loosened and he chuckled throatily.

"I'll grant you that there is something to be said for spontaneity," he said.

"You have words to say?" Ethan asked with a broken laugh. "Care to share?"

"Isn't that what we just did?"

Smiling, as he really didn't have many words just yet, Ethan stared into his lover's eyes, which were a source of endless fascination for him even when he wasn't strung out after an incredible high. There were so many colours in Ripper's irises, flecks and smudges of greens, blues, greys and that dramatic brown spash in his right eye, a scar apparently... Looking into them was like watching clouds on a blustery day and seeing shapes and symbols within the chaos.

"What are you thinking?" Ripper asked, feathering a light touch against Ethan's cheek.

"The thought of being without you – it's rather... worrisome."

"I'm right here," Ripper pointed out. His mouth curved up into a half smile. "Can't get much closer."

Ethan chuckled a little, but there was a bitter sound to it. "Even my childhood puppy got itself run over."

"I promise you, I'm not going to get myself run over." Ripper pulled him closer, wrapping Ethan up in his arms protectively in a way that Ethan would never admit he craved.


	8. Chapter 8

_ **Now...** _

"You're staring," Giles pointed out.

"Patterns in clouds," Ethan replied, somewhat inexplicably. He smiled gently as he lowered his gaze from Giles' eyes and took his half-eaten butty from the blue utilitarian plate in front of him, raising it to his mouth.

The café they'd eventually found after their walk up the hill –open so early to provide for those whose job was to get the city ready for the day-workers– was cheap and not particularly cheerful. But the coffee was strong, hot and black, and the food was good in a way that would, Giles thought, make any respectable Californian enter cardiac arrest on the spot.

It was, in fact, a lot like the kinds of places they used to end up in after nights spent getting lost in magic and each other, back in their younger days. Another echo of their mutual past, which seemed closer now than ever before.

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

"You're thinking," Ethan accused. "Are you seeing patterns too?"

"I'd have to be blind not to, wouldn't I?" Giles replied, taking a sip of his coffee to avoid meeting Ethan's eyes.

"Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel..." Giles recognised that Ethan was quoting from a song Giles had once sung to him quite often.

He smiled a little at the memory. "Something like that. It certainly feels like we've travelled back to the beginning." And despite all the complications that brought with it, Giles couldn't find it in himself to feel regret.

Ethan looked down. "I'd rather like it to go differently this time."

"Hopefully age has brought wisdom," Giles said dryly, casually brushing Ethan's hand with a light touch. It seemed an ironic thing to say, considering that Ethan had always had the power to drive every bit of sense from Giles' brain.

Ethan drew a deep breath as he looked up again and released it as a quiet sigh. "I find myself unwilling to ask, Rupert; I'm not sure why. But nonetheless, will you tell me what happened?"

Giles let out his breath in a weary sigh. "It's a long story," he said, delaying just a bit. He had already made the decision to tell Ethan, but that didn't make it any easier to start.

"We have all day."

He decided to begin with some background information, before he got to the truly difficult part. Unfortunately, the background was almost as hard to talk about. "A couple of years ago, Buffy died." He said the words, trying not to actually remember the events.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "I had no idea ghosts could use a telephone so efficiently. Not to mention so offensively." He winced and lowered his eyes. "Sorry."

Giles let the comments pass, having expected something of the sort from Ethan. He doubted Buffy was ever going to be a subject his lover could discuss completely civilly. Continuing on with his story, Giles said, "A few months later, Willow brought her back. With magic."

"Little Willow? Sweet redheaded child? About so high?" Ethan raised his flat hand to roughly indicate Willow's height.

"'Little Willow' has more power than most of the magic-users I've met combined."

"I'm assuming the resurrection was fully successful then." Ethan shook his head. "Even I wouldn't fool with the Law _that_ much, Rupert." Giles thought he caught a glimpse of uncertainty in Ethan's eyes as the words were spoken, but perhaps not.

"I'm glad to hear it." Giles looked down at his coffee mug. "Willow, however, wasn't listening to any kind of reason at the time. She had the power, and she was going to use it, and damn the consequences."

"And there were, I take it? Consequences?"

Giles grimaced. "Indeed. She brought Buffy back – by ripping her out of heaven. That does not make for a cheerful Slayer. But the worst came later."

Ethan didn't say anything. He lifted his coffee with both hands, as if warming them, and after taking a sip, he looked at Giles over the top of his mug. Waiting. Giles met his eyes for a moment, then looked back down before speaking.

"Willow's girlfriend was murdered. To say that Willow didn't take it well would be a huge understatement."

It was a few moments before Ethan said anything, and when he did, he seemed to have decided to keep it simple, perhaps aware of how difficult this was for Giles to talk about. "What did she do?"

"She drained all the magic from the collection of books I'd left at the magic shop, tracked down, tortured, and flayed alive the man who had killed Tara, then attacked Buffy and the others when they tried to keep her from killing anyone else." Giles sighed heavily. "That's where I came in."

"You hadn't been, er, 'in' before?"

"I was in England." He shook his head. "Another long story, and not directly relevant. I was... involved with this coven in Devon; they had a seer who'd alerted me to what was happening, and what would happen if Willow wasn't stopped. They lent me the entire coven's power and sent me back."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "I'm beginning to see the end of this story, but let's get there the normal way, nonetheless. What happened when you got to Sunnydale?"

"We fought. I got my arse kicked, which thankfully, had been part of the plan, however painful." Giles leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, the memories vivid as he talked. "She stole my magic, and that, combined with what she already had, drove her insane enough to try and destroy the world."

Offering a wry smile, Ethan said, "While being back in your bed may approach the heavenly for me, there still seems to be plenty of suffering in the world, and so I can't quite imagine that we're dead men talking. I assume the good witch gone bad was stopped somehow."

Giles smiled a little. "Xander reached her in time, and then he _reached _her."

"How sweet," Ethan said drily. "I'm not quite clear why you getting your arse kicked was part of the plan, or indeed what the plan was. Although," he added as an afterthought, "I'll be happy to massage out any residual bruising you might still have."

"It was part of the plan because of the type of magic the coven lent to me. Its essence was pure, so when Willow stole it–"

"Her cure was immediately underway, which is why the boy could reach her. Quite ingenious, Rupert, and may I say" –his eyes flashed– "suicidal."

"That was the one flaw, yes," Giles admitted ruefully, taking a sip of his coffee. "But as it turned out, when Willow let go of all her stolen power, that which was mine found its way back. So here I am still."

"And if I'm guessing the epilogue correctly, after years of religious persecution, your magic is now getting just a little bit bolshy." Ethan toasted Giles with his mug, a somewhat smug expression on his face.

"Yes, I rather expected this would be how you'd react," Giles said testily, although part of him still felt disappointed at said reaction. "Go on then. Get the gloating out of your system."

Far from gloating, Ethan immediately looked chagrined. "Sorry," he muttered into the dregs of his coffee.

Giles sighed, unable to hold onto his irritation in the face of an apology. "It... hasn't been easy," he admitted softly.

"What have you been trying?"

"Abstinence," he replied, quirking his mouth upwards in a rueful half-smile.

"And that's not been working too well." It was a statement, not a question.

"Let's just say it's made difficult times even more difficult," Giles replied, remembering how close his own grief, rage and fear at the Council's destruction had come to getting out of control. The only way he had been able to cope without losing himself was to ruthlessly lock every emotion down.

Ethan stretched his legs out under the table so that they were touching Giles'. "I know you'll hardly consider me the right person to be handing out magic advice, but if something's a part of you, the way your magic is... well, isn't it rather like sitting on top of Old Faithful and expecting not to get a somewhat violent enema?"

"Thank you for that ever so pleasant image."

Ethan chuckled. "You're quite welcome."

"It's worked for the last twenty-five years," Giles said, answering the original comment and staring down into his coffee cup. "It should bloody well keep working."

"But it isn't." Ethan's voice was schooled and as free of judgement as Giles had ever heard it. "And now I'm here and lit up like Piccadilly Circus to your senses. It can't be helping."

Giles glanced back up at him. "It is making me rather hyper-aware of the problem, yes."

A pained wince flickered over Ethan's features, and he looked down, his legs moving away from Giles under the table. "I'll do my best to find a harmless way of earthing myself. This 'super-charge' probably won't last anyway."

"No," Giles said immediately, reaching out and laying a hand on Ethan's arm; he was careful to make the gesture look innocent for anybody who might be watching. "I mean, yes, it would be a good thing for your own benefit if you learnt a way of harmlessly... dispersing the excess energy, but I don't want you pulling away because of it."

Ethan's eyes clearly expressed gratitude when they met Giles' gaze. "It's going to make the monkish life even harder for you, Rupert." He grinned suddenly, and rather evilly, and then looked away, scratching at the side of his neck.

Giles' gaze narrowed. "Do I even want to know what you're thinking?"

Ethan's hand failed to rub the grin away from his mouth. "Oh, I was just thinking about you in a nice chaste Benedictine habit, wandering through the abbey gardens, open book in hand, contemplating some of the finer mysteries of life. Of course, I'd be there to defrock you."

"Of course," Giles replied drily. He paused and then, knowing how Ethan's mind worked, added firmly, "We are not procuring a monk's robe."

"We could rent one. Is that costume shop in Islington still there?"

"I am not dressing as a monk so that you can defrock me." Giles did his best to sound absolutely certain, knowing if he showed the least little bit of interest, Ethan would continue to press the issue, and if that happened, he might as well get used to the idea of playing a monk.

Ethan laughed and then gave Giles an over-the-top sultry look. "I'll just have to imagine very hard then. Mmm, _very_ hard." It was becoming clear that Ethan had decided that the serious conversation was over for now, which was perfectly all right with Giles. He'd been doing his best to ignore the magic temptation, and it was harder to do so when actually talking about it.

"Watch it, you might sprain something," he replied to Ethan in kind.

"Oh dear, and then you'll be forced to rub it better. Such a terrible tragedy."

"Better pace yourself because I'm not rubbing anything here."

Ethan's eyes twinkled. "Then my cup is truly empty. Shall we go?"

***

"Do you know," Ethan said conversationally, "I have a quite unbearable impulse to scratch a penknife along these panelled walls. Oh, don't worry, I don't have a knife on me. The urge to desecrate is powerful though."

They were traipsing through the hallowed corridors of the new Council of Watchers' headquarters, a huge Georgian building near the heart of London, and Ethan was finding the experience particularly bemusing. He couldn't quite believe he was here.

"Try to restrain yourself," Rupert replied drily, although he didn't look too concerned about what Ethan might do. In fact, walking down these corridors, Rupert looked confident and comfortable. He looked like he belonged here. Ripper had never seemed further away.

And it was that fact, as much as anything else, that was bringing out the anti-establishment feelings in Ethan. He wanted his lover back and not this man. This man was the mask Rupert had put on after turning his back on Ethan and their life together, or at least a more relaxed version thereof. It was very hard for Ethan to behave under the circumstances.

As they had been in the area, Rupert had decided to call in and collect some apparently important papers. Ethan had expected to be left in the car while Rupert did so, and so was surprised when it quickly became evident that he was supposed to follow Rupert in. He was thrilled, at first, to be trusted that much, but his unease was growing as he lost all sense of where he was –and how to get out again– in the maze of identical wood-panelled corridors and endless staircases.

Ethan knew in his bones how much he didn't belong there. The hairs on the back of his neck were creeping, and he was on an edge so sharp his nerves were bleeding, figuratively, at least. It felt like the walls didn't want him within them. However, that didn't so much frighten him away as made him want to commit many amusing acts of vandalism. He let his magic move around his fingertips and felt like he was challenging the building to a duel.

"It might well be a good idea if we don't stay here too long, old chum," he remarked casually.

"I wasn't planning on it," Rupert replied, half distractedly as he nodded at some passers by. "Once I have these files, I can legitimately work from home for a couple of days. Barring any apocalypses or emergencies."

They stopped in front of a carved oaken door with a brass nameplate. It was Rupert's office, of course, and it pretty much screamed tradition and establishment into Ethan's face. He looked at it sourly, already knowing he wouldn't like what lay inside.

Rupert opened the door and led the way into the outer office, which was a bustle of activity. Ethan recognised the Smythe-Tompkins woman in the middle of it. Everyone paused as they noticed Rupert's entrance.

In full vulpine mode, Ethan smiled toothily at them all as he followed Rupert in. All but one of the small crowd were female. As well as the prim bitch, there was an equally prim older woman behind a desk, and two girls dressed very differently from the others in the room. The token bloke was short, thin, and utterly nondescript; he was standing between the two girls and looking flustered.

Ethan oozed over towards the only face he knew. "Pammy, how nice to see you again," he purred.

Rupert glanced at him, but there was fondness as well as exasperation in his expression, and he didn't actually say anything about Ethan's posturing. Instead, Rupert turned back to his assistant. "Good morning, Pamela. I just came in to get the reports from Africa; I'm going to work at home today."

"Sir," Pamela replied dutifully, but she was looking at Ethan with increasing alarm. "Don't touch that!" she snapped as he ran his finger over the top of a beige folder. His grin became broader still as he fondled the cardboard, being deliberately provocative. She visibly steeled herself and turned back to Rupert. "There are some other matters I need to talk to you about, sir."

Giles let out his breath in an exasperated sigh. "Fine. We can go into my office." He glanced over at Ethan. "This shouldn't take long. Try not to terrorise the staff in the meantime."

Full of mock-affront, Ethan clasped his hand to his chest and opened his eyes wide, but Rupert didn't even notice the display, turning as he already was to open the second door in the room. Ethan watched glumly as his lover and Pamela disappeared into the office beyond, which was, like everything he'd seen here so far, furnished expensively but austerely.

Rupert might as well be a monk really, for all the fun he'd have in this last bastion of Victorian tradition.

Ethan looked around the remaining population of the office. The older woman was glaring at him, clearly prepared to take her cues from Pammy double-barrelled, and the man was looking at his clipboard, so Ethan grinned charmingly at the two teenage girls. "Hello sweet things. Aren't you a little too brightly-coloured for this cemetery for the living?"

The taller of the two girls just stared at him, but the other laughed. "Damn straight," she said, her accent American. "We spend enough time in cemeteries for the dead –or undead– already. And even _they're_ more alive than this place." She looked him up and down then held out her hand. "I'm Katherine. Call me Kat . And this is Megan."

Ethan raised the proffered hand to his lips for a chaste kiss. "Delighted to meet you both, and may I say what a pleasure it is to find someone here who actually knows how to smile. And such pretty smiles you both have too."

The short grey man looked up and spoke with a peevish tone. "Girls, please don't bother Mr Giles' friend with your idle chatter."

Ethan rolled his eyes and grinned encouragingly at the children. "On the contrary, please do so bother me, girls. Otherwise I fear I may go quite mad in this den of suffocating virtue. You are two of the new Slayers, I presume?"

"That's us. Ours is the birthright and the power, and we must be instructed on how to properly channel blah, blah, blah, blah." Kat rolled her eyes expressively.

Mr 'grey' got as far as, "Katherine, I really must protest–" before Ethan cut him off, his smile now a little cruel, and his tone edged with poison meant for the man and not the girls.

"Do you know what a birthright is, Kat? It's a weapon that the establishment uses in order to get you to kow-tow to their rules. Didn't you have plans for your life before the power hit you?"

Before the girl could answer, the door to Rupert's inner office flew open. Rupert was standing in the doorway, looking supremely annoyed. "Edwards," he said to the grey man, voice tightly controlled. "Inside. Now."

Ethan chuckled softly at the obvious flinch the small man tried to repress, even though he himself had flinched a little when Rupert had first appeared in the doorway radiating anger, guiltily thinking that Rupert might have overheard his comment about birthrights.

As Edwards headed in, looking for all the world like a small school boy about to be caned by the headmaster, Ethan turned back to the girls. "Don't worry. Rupert won't actually kill him, just make him wish that he had done."

Megan watched Edwards slink into the office, a look of extreme satisfaction on her face, while Kat said breezily, "Oh, Giles is cool. He's not..." She trailed off, obviously searching for the right word.

"Tight-arsed?" Ethan suggested helpfully. "Rigid, narrow-minded, order-bound, and appallingly naïve?"

"Stuffy," Megan said softly, speaking for the first time.

"That too." He smiled encouragingly at the shyer girl. Turning to the matron, whose glare he could still feel on the back of his neck, Ethan ordered, "Earl grey, black, no sugar." He didn't wait to see her reaction, immediately turning back to the girls. "So how have you been enjoying England then?"

Kat shrugged. "It's okay. Everyone talks funny though."

"You are quite right, of course," Ethan agreed drolly. "What parts of England have you actually been allowed to see?"

"Mostly just London. Though Giles took a bunch of us to Devon for a weekend a while back." Devon again, interesting. Perhaps Ethan should ask more about this mysterious coven when he got the chance.

"I liked it there," Megan put in, voice still soft, but seeming a bit more animated. "It's all green and peaceful."

"On the surface, yes." Ethan was pleased to see the secretary woman was bustling about actually making him tea. He perched on the edge of her desk and smirked a little. "So what was on the agenda today, girls? And, hmm, what went wrong?"

"Mr. Edwards threatened not to let us have our mail," Megan said, her voice stronger with indignation.

"Unless you worked harder at becoming a little grey nonentity like himself, I presume."

Kat looked disgusted. "We'd been asking too many questions, he said."

"Ah," Ethan nodded knowingly. "Lack of blind obedience. Always a fatal mistake with people like this crowd. Aren't you girls ever allowed out to have fun?"

"It's not that bad," Kat said. "At least, usually. But Mr. Edwards is a... tight-arse, did you say?"

"Yes, 'tight-arse' is a perfectly good phrase in these circumstances. You should also consider many other sturdy British descriptives, such as" –the door to Rupert's office started to open, but Ethan continued regardless– "–he's a gormless pillock with a pole up his jacksee who would be out of his depth in a car park puddle."

Edwards stormed out and past them, glaring at Ethan but not stopping. Pamela followed, but stopped and went to sit behind the other desk in this anteroom, presumably her own. Finally Rupert emerged, coming over to join the three of them. "Ethan," he began in a long-suffering tone that was at least partially put on. "How many times have I asked you not to corrupt my Slayers?"

Ethan's mouth formed a moue as he looked appraisingly at the girls. "Do you feel corrupted, my dears? If you do, there's no need to thank me. It's all part of a good day's work for a man like myself." There was a clink of bone china beside him as his tea was delivered with ill grace.

Megan and Kat both giggled at that, and then giggled again when Rupert picked up the teacup before Ethan could and winked at the girls.

"Well, if that's the case," Rupert said, heading back to his office, "you might as well join the girls and me for the next conversation." He gestured for the three to follow him.

Chuckling at Rupert's cheek, Ethan followed, saying to the older woman again, "Earl grey, black, no sugar," as he entered the other room.

Once the door was closed, Rupert turned to the girls. "So it appears that you two are lacking a teacher," he said dryly.

Kat shrugged, not seeming the least bit repentant. "No big loss where Mr. Edwards is concerned."

Ethan prowled about the room as they talked, scanning the notice boards briefly and then heading for the window. He suspected he'd only been invited in here to stop him provoking trouble with the two women outside.

"Be that as it may, the fact remains we have to find you a new one," Rupert was saying.

"Can we have him?" Megan asked, and Ethan looked over to see her pointing at him.

Not for a moment believing Rupert would take the request seriously, Ethan giggled. "Oh please. There's so much I could teach them, Ripper."

Rupert looked at him appraisingly for a long moment, the faintest of smiles touching his lips. "I've no doubt that you could." He turned back to the girls. "Are you quite certain you want him?"

Both girls nodded enthusiastically. "He's cool," Kat declared.

Ethan stared between Rupert and the girls and back again. It wasn't that it was unlike Rupert to run with the joke in order to wind Ethan up, but he wouldn't normally tease the girls. Ethan was confused.

"All right," Rupert said.

"What?" Ethan asked faintly. Could they possibly have worked this joke out in advance between them?

"Of course, Ethan's never done this before, so I'll be assisting him." Rupert glanced over at Ethan. "If that's all right with you?"

"What?" Ethan asked again, a little louder.

"And with you two of course," Rupert said, turning back to the girls. "You think you can handle having the two of us as teachers?"

"What?" Ethan all but yelled. "Rupert, have you lost whatever wits your increasing decrepitude has left you with?"

Ignoring Ethan, Rupert asked the girls, "Could you give us a minute?"

"Sure," Kat said, looking back and forth between the two. "We'll go see if the tea's ready." She dragged Megan back out into the outer office.

As soon as the door was shut, Ethan strode over. "As jokes go, I've heard better from Bob Monkhouse," he complained.

"I'm not joking," Rupert told him

Fear contracted Ethan's guts, and he folded his arms in front of himself protectively. "You have to be. Either that or you've finally lost it. No one in their right mind would put me in charge of children."

"It wouldn't be the first time I've been accused of being mad."

Rupert really seemed to be serious, and Ethan's head was reeling. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but he said nothing, and finally he turned away, walking back to the window to look out over London, which was dull and damp today.

Rupert came up behind him, sliding one arm around Ethan's waist. "Tell me what you're thinking?" he asked softly.

"Nothing particularly coherent, I can assure you." It was no lie. Ethan's mind was filled with a jumbled series of half-finished thoughts. He leant slightly against Rupert, seeking reassurance. "Presuming it's not simple sadism on your part, why?"

"You aren't going to get bogged down in tradition or bureaucratic idiocy," Rupert explained. "You've been out there and know what they could face. You're not going to sugarcoat things, and you are going to make sure they know there's life outside the traditional Slayer existence. Things have changed; there are enough Slayers now that those who don't want to be active don't have to be. Most of the people here have yet to grasp that fact. I want these girls to have a choice, and you would make sure they got one."

Ethan laughed hollowly, his arms still wrapped tightly around himself. "I'm quite certain you won't want them to have the kind of choices I could offer them."

Rupert tightened the half-embrace he had him in. "There's a difference between 'could' and 'would'," he said quietly.

"Please don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Trust me, believe in me... make me responsible for children." Ethan turned his head away, although he made no attempt to leave Rupert's embrace. "I believe you may have forgotten who I am."

"I know who you are," Rupert told him, voice soft and breath warm against Ethan's ear. "You can do this, Ethan." He paused and offered, "It will drive the more conservative factions of the Council into quiet apoplexy."

"I doubt it'll be that quiet, and I suspect it'll be all the Council apart from you." There was a certain appeal in that, but still... Ethan turned in Rupert's arms in order to meet, just about, Rupert's gaze. "I know why you're doing this."

"Do you?" Rupert asked, smiling faintly.

"You're testing me. Because I said that if you hadn't left me, if you'd given me the chance to follow you when you came back to these bastards" –Ethan waved his hand to express the concept of the whole Watcher's Council– "I would have. You're wanting me to prove I meant it."

Rupert's smile faded. "This isn't a test, Ethan. It's... I want to give you a... a chance. A purpose."

Ethan had a purpose, and it was standing right in front of him. He didn't need anything else. But Rupert clearly needed him to have... something that wasn't him; that much was obvious. Ethan sighed with resignation, his gaze dropping. "I am almost certainly going to disappoint you, you know. Don't you dare hate me when I do."

Rupert reached out, gently brushing a hand against his cheek. "I'm not just throwing you in the deep end alone, you realise. You did hear the part when I said I was going to help you?"

"You're going to have to rewire my entire personality for this to work," Ethan muttered, but then he looked up, his face a perfect picture of smugness. "I'll require the top rate of salary plus all the perks, and I want to have my boss available for a thorough shagging at a moment's notice."

Rupert chuckled. "I think we can work something out that will be agreeable."

Ethan found himself smiling, despite his trepidation. "I don't even know exactly what I'm agreeing to."

"Working very closely with me in teaching those two girls what they will need to know to survive." Rupert paused and then reiterated, "_Very_ closely."

Chuckling softly, and moving his arms around Rupert to hold him more _closely_, Ethan said, "Ah well, when you put it that way, how could I possibly refuse?

**Author's Note:**

> So very many thanks go to Wesleysgirl and mpoetess for staunch and reliable betaing.


End file.
